


Flock

by halfmoonmagic



Series: Nighttime Fliers [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: And doesn't sleep, Batbrothers (DCU), Batbrothers (DCU) Bonding, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Swears, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Dick Grayson, Though he tries not to, Tim Drake is Red Robin, and also tries to be a good brother, and drinks way too much coffee to compensate, because obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmoonmagic/pseuds/halfmoonmagic
Summary: Birds of a feather wear masks and fight crime together!...that's how the saying goes, right?A series of unconnected one-shots centered around Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. Other Batfamily members will be featured often!
Series: Nighttime Fliers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003362
Comments: 928
Kudos: 842





	1. Dimensional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyuuo asked:
> 
> "Can You write one or more chapters where the batboys (alone or together) time/dimensiontravel to a JL that doesn't know them. And they blow their expectations totally out of the water"

Wally had never seen _anyone_ move like this guy. He was getting dizzy just watching all the backflips and twists and spins.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked Uncle Barry.

“Are you seeing some dude beat the crap out of Multiplex?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’d say we’re seeing the same thing,” Barry replied, watching the action with his mouth slightly agape.

“Do you think we should help him?” Wally asked after another moment.

The man with the blue bird emblazoned on his chest used one of Multiplex’s clones as a springboard and then proceeded to break the laws of gravity with a set of flips that _should not have been possible_ before taking down another three clones as he landed.

Barry cleared his throat. “I think he’s good.”

“Hey, Flashes!” the man in blue called cheerfully as he punched a clone in the face. “Boy, am I glad to see you! Just give me a sec, will you? I just found my guy.”

He turned and threw one of his escrima sticks clear across the room. One of the Multiplex clones went down hard and then suddenly fight was over. Wally shook his head, stunned, as he realized that this new vigilante had correctly spotted and taken out the real Multiplex in a room full of clones with very little apparent effort.

 _Just who the hell_ was _this guy?_

“Well, that was fun!” the man in blue grinned. “And I’m very glad that weird beam of light I got hit with earlier only sent me to Central City! I thought for sure I was a goner.”

“Beam of light?” Wally repeated, but Barry was quicker on the uptake.

“Were you the source of that weird energy reading we got earlier today?”

“Probably,” the blue man admitted. He glanced over at Wally. “I tried calling you once I realized where I was, but it didn’t go through. Did you change your number or something?”

Wally frowned. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Hilarious,” the man in blue said sarcastically. “Seriously, though. I need you to help me find the others.”

“There are others like you?” Barry demanded. “How many? Where did you come from?”

The man in blue’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you guys talking like this? Why are you acting like you don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, expression clearing. “Oh _shit._ I didn’t just hop cities, did I? Man, dimension travel is the _worst.”_

“Tell me about it,” Barry muttered.

The man in blue grunted in agreement. “Well, anyway. I’m Nightwing. And I could really use your help.”

*

“Roy…Roy, wake up! Nap time’s over. We gotta go.”

Roy groaned, reaching up to clutch his aching head. He felt like he’d just been punched by Superman. “Wha’…?” he managed, slowly blinking his eyes open. He was in a small, empty room with a tall man in red helmet and a brown, leather jacket looming over him.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely got a concussion. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” the stranger said.

“The fuck are you?” Roy asked, sitting up slowly so he wouldn’t throw up. He reached for his bow—only to realize all his weapons were missing. “What’ve you done with my bow?”

 _“I’ve_ done nothing. You got kidnapped, remember?” the man replied, sounding exasperated even through the voice modifier in his helmet. “You’re lucky I was out looking for you after Nightwing got in touch. Figured you and the other Arrows could get me to the JLA.”

While the rest of the stranger’s explanation didn’t make much sense—what the hell was a _Nightwing?—_ Roy did, in fact, have vague memories of getting snatched during last night’s patrol and clobbered in the head with a brick.

“Right, yeah, I…hold up! How the fuck did you know my name?!” he demanded, trying to simultaneously scramble away from the stranger and check that his mask was still in place—which it was.

“We don’t have time for this,” the stranger told him. “I swear I’ll give you all the answers you want, but right now, we have to go. So come with me if you want to live, asshole.”

“Fine,” Roy agreed, since he didn’t seem to have any better options. He let the stranger help him to his feet and then support some of his weight as they hobbled out of the room together. Roy gaped at the still smoking wreckage of the reinforced doorframe as they passed through.

Then gaped some more at the dozen or so men collapsed across the warehouse floor.

And then gaped _even more_ at the semi-truck that someone had driven straight through one of the walls as a battering ram.

“Did you do all this?” he asked.

“Yup,” the stranger replied.

“You wanna be best friends?”

The stranger laughed. “Dude, if only you knew.” He carefully helped Roy through the hole left behind by the truck. “Let’s get you back home and then I’ll tell you all about me and other you.”

“Other me?” Roy repeated, wondering if his concussion was starting to mess with his hearing.

“Yeah. Did I not mention I’m from a different dimension?”

“That is _so cool.”_

*

“Ma, someone’s knocking at the front door!” Conner hollered from his spot on the couch.

“Then go answer it!” Ma shouted back from the kitchen.

Conner huffed a sigh and trudged over to the door, focusing his super-hearing.

 _“…get Central and Star,”_ the visitor was muttering under his breath. He was definitely male and sounded close to Conner’s age. _“Of course_ I _get sent to the middle of cornfield in Smallville. Couldn’t the universe have given me Metropolis, at lea—”_

Conner yanked over the door, surprising the boy on the other side mid-mutter.

“Um,” Conner said, looking the boy over from head to toe. The red and black outfit complete with cape, crossing bandoliers, and domino mask was _not_ what Conner had been expecting.

Though, from the look of it (and the sound of his heartbeat), _Conner_ wasn't what the visitor had been expecting either.

“Conner?” the boy blurted.

Conner immediately tensed. “Do I know you?”

The boy opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I guess not,” he said after a moment. “I’m Red Robin.”

Conner frowned. “Like the restaurant?”

“The what?”

“The restaurant chain,” Conner clarified.

The boy stared at him for another moment. “Well it’s nice to have actual, physical proof that my life is just a bad cosmic joke,” he said finally.

“Are you alright?” Conner asked. He was starting to get concerned.

“Not really. But that’s actually par for the course, so…” the boy trailed off with a shrug. “Do you mind if I come in? I really need to talk to Superman. Is he here?”

Conner’s heart dropped like a stone.

_How did he know?_

“Um, dude, I think you’ve been out in the sun too long. Superman lives in Metropolis. This is Kansas,” Conner said, forcing a laugh as he shifted his feet into a better fighting stance.

“And now you’re in fight mode,” the boy sighed, which startled Conner so much that he nearly fell over in shock. How was this kid reading him so well? “Please don’t be in fight mode. I’m doing this all wrong. It’s just…it’s been a very long day and there’s been absolutely _zero_ coffee in it and entirely too many cornfields. I’m sorry. Can we start over?”

“Sure?” Conner replied. He was starting to feel a little helpless.

The boy flashed him a tired smile. “Hi. My name is Red Robin. I’m a superhero from another dimension and I need some help contacting the JLA so that I can get home. I know the Kent farm is Superman’s home because I know Superman back on my Earth. I know you, too, Kon-El. Superboy. So if we could just skip past the part where you deny you’re half-Kryptonian and get to the part that involves you calling Clark, that would be really appreciated. Thanks.”

Before Conner could even _begin_ to process all that, the boy made a small sound and rooted around in one of the pouches on his utility belt.

“Almost forgot,” he said, pulling out a phone and tossing it Conner’s direction. Conner caught the device instinctively. “I got bored while I was walking through the cornfields, so I hacked LexCorp’s servers. Found some information you and Superman might find useful.”

Conner gaped at him. “Who the hell _are_ you?”

The boy sighed again. “Hi. My name is Red Robin and I’m a superhero from another dimension…”

*  
  


Diana floated an inch above the ground to keep her movements silent as she watched the small figure in the hooded cloak sneak through the hallway.

“Being a thief in the Themysciran embassy is a bad idea,” Diana commented. The figure whirled, revealing the masked face of young boy who couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. She made note of all the weapons he was carrying, particularly the sword slung across his back. “But carrying a blade you cannot use is much worse.” 

“I am not a thief,” the boy said, with much more confidence than Diana would have expected from one so young. “And I know how to use this blade.”

Diana’s eyebrow lifted. She let her feet touch the ground and drew her own blade. “Show me,” she commanded.

The boy nodded once and drew his weapon, taking up a defensive stance. Diana obliged by pressing the attack, mindful of her strength in case the boy was actually as human as he looked. He dodged her first strike, then used a glancing parry to deflect her second. Diana could tell by her third strike that the boy had indeed seen some training. She was more impressed when, after the fifth strike, the boy suddenly went on the offensive with a controlled slash that would have been too quick to parry had Diana been anyone other than an Amazon.

But it was there that the boy made his first mistake. Instead of disengaging, he allowed the hilts of their swords to become locked body-to-body, a move which heavily favored the taller, stronger opponent. Diana bore down, pressing her advantage.

“Surrender,” she counseled.

The boy grinned viciously.

And then suddenly, Diana’s blade was clattering down the hall and the tip of the boy’s sword was pointed at her jugular.

Diana went very still. “That was an Amazonian move,” she said wonderingly. “How did you…?”

The boy removed his sword from her neck and sheathed in one graceful movement. “You taught it to me. Well, not _you._ The Wonder Woman of my Earth.”

“Your Earth,” Diana repeated. Realization struck. “Ah—you are the boy the Flash told me to look out for. Robin.”

Robin nodded. “Nightwing said you could help me get to the Justice League.”

“I can certainly do that,” Diana said, smiling. “And I am glad that the Wonder Woman of your Earth has a student such as you. She must be very proud.”

It may have been a trick of the lighting, but Diana was certain she saw the boy blush. “I’m not…she isn’t really my mentor. We’ve just sparred a few times.”

“You should do so more often,” Diana told him, ushering him down the hall. She paused for a moment to collect her own blade and sheath it. “I’m sure she has more to teach you. Besides, your footwork could use a little improvement.”

“My footwork is perfect!” the boy exclaimed indignantly, glaring at her.

Diana stifled a laugh. “I’m only teasing, little one. Your footwork is very good.”

“It’s _perfect,”_ the boy insisted.

Diana’s only reply was a smile.

*

“Zatanna and Dr. Fate are almost done with the spell,” Clark announced, walking over to the group.

“Good,” the one called the Red Hood grunted. “I can’t _wait_ to get home.”

Red Robin inspected the mystical runes drawn on the ground that the boys were all standing on. “And they’re sure this will send us to _our_ Earth? We won’t just go skipping around the multiverse? Because let me tell you, I tried that once and I did _not_ enjoy it.”

“Zatanna and Fate are the best,” Barry assured him. “They’ll get you where you need to go.”

“I still can’t believe _Batman_ trained all of you,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “I thought Batman was some kind of urban legend!”

“Hardly,” the smallest boy, Robin, scoffed.

“I hope your stay here wasn’t too arduous,” Diana offered, heading off Oliver when it looked like he was about to start arguing back.

“It was fine,” Nightwing assured her with a smile. “It was nice to see so many familiar faces.”

“And to find out the Replacement named himself after a restaurant chain,” the Red Hood added gleefully.

Red Robin groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I hate my life.”

“It’s time,” Zatanna announced as she walked into the room, Fate trailing behind her. “We’ll perform the final spell and then you’ll be on your way.”

“Thank you,” Nightwing told her. He glanced at the other heroes. “Thanks to all of you. We appreciate the help.”

“Of course,” Clark said. “It was our pleasure.”

Zatanna and Fate started chanting in some mystical language. The runes under the boys’ feet began to glow, the air quickly becoming charged with energy.

“Clark, Diana,” Nightwing said urgently. It was still odd for Clark to here his name used so freely by someone who he’d just met yesterday. “Maybe Batman _is_ just an urban legend here, but if he isn’t…” The boy shook his head. “Find him. Please. Don’t let him be alone. He needs friends like you, even if he says he doesn't.”

“If he’s real, we will find him,” Diana vowed solemnly. "The man who trained warriors such as you four would be a formidable ally."

Clark nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us that might help our search?”

Nightwing thought for a moment. “I don't want to accidentally lead you off course--I don't know how different things are here. But I _can_ tell you one thing about Batman, at least, if you ever do find him.”

“What?” Clark asked curiously.

“Puns,” Nightwing replied, completely straight-faced. “He really likes puns. The worse they are, the more he likes them.”

Red Robin and Robin both stared at Nightwing as Red Hood choked on what sounded like a laugh.

 _“Wing,”_ the Hood said. “You did _not_ just—”

There was a flash of blinding white light. When it cleared, the boys were gone.

Clark turned to Diana. “Puns?” he asked.

She shrugged at him, equally nonplussed.

“Well, I guess it’s worth a shot,” Clark said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Flock!! The adventure continues...
> 
> I'm going to try to keep my regular posting schedule, so I'll see you back here every Friday with a new chapter!


	2. Dimensional (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asterousdisaster asked:  
> "omg i hate to take advantage of the only request if its a part 2 already buuuuut i would love to see clark and diana trying to befriend alternate universe batman via puns"
> 
> And kyuuo asked:  
> "As part 2 could you write how Batman reacts when he meets the bros and finds out where the puns came from?"
> 
> An AU Batman plagued by puns? I brought this upon myself and I'm not mad about it in the slightest.
> 
> Plus, it turns out that the internet is a great place to find puns.

His first run-in with a member of the Justice League took place on the outskirts of Gotham after a vicious fight with Killer Croc. Bruce had expected them to come looking for him eventually. He’d just thought he'd had more time.

“So you’re Batman,” Superman said, looking him over with unabashed curiosity. Bruce was grateful he’d taken the time to make his suit x-ray proof months ago. “I was beginning to think you really _were_ just a myth.”

Bruce said nothing. He still wasn’t certain he wanted anything to do with the other heroes, no matter what Alfred's opinion was on the matter.

Superman seemed undeterred by Bruce's silence. The Kryptonian floated a little closer to Croc’s unconscious form. “Who is that?”

“Waylon Jones,” Bruce answered reluctantly. “Goes by the name Killer Croc.”

Superman tilted his head. “Is that a vest he’s wearing?”

“His coat ripped,” Bruce said shortly. He wanted to get rid of this interruption and being rude tended to put most people off. “You need to leave. I have work to do.”

"The fight's finished,” Superman pointed out. “I could help you take Jones to the police.”

“No,” Bruce growled before Superman could move. “I need to figure out what he was doing here.”

“Maybe he was being an _investigator.”_

“No,” Bruce said again. “That's not the kind of work he does."

Superman rubbed at the back of his neck, flashing a shy smile. “I meant…it was a pun.”

“What.”

“Because he's wearing a vest,” Superman explained earnestly. “He’s an _investigator.”_

Bruce blinked. “But he’s a crocodile.”

“No, I know,” Superman said, still smiling.

Bruce pulled himself together. “You need to leave my crime scene.”

Superman laughed. “Alright, I’ll stop bothering you. For now. If you ever need anything, just give a shout and I’ll come. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Batman!”

Bruce watched Superman fly off into the night.

He frowned.

“Weird,” he said to himself. Then he got back to work.

*

Bruce never saw Wonder Woman's head-on approach coming. She simply turned on the Bat-Signal and waited for him to show up.

“You shouldn’t use that,” Bruce growled as he landed on the roof.

“Your friend Gordon didn’t seem to mind,” Wonder Woman said shrugged. Bruce sighed internally. He supposed it was too much to ask that Jim Gordon resist a literal Amazonian princess’ charms.

“What do you want?” Bruce demanded.

Wonder Woman’s eyebrows went up. “Direct. I like that,” she said, surprising him. “Let me honor you with equal honesty. I would like to get to know you better. I think you could be a valuable asset for our team.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. So he’d been right. The Justice League _was_ trying to recruit him. 

“What if I’m not interested in being part of a team?” he asked.

Wonder Woman looked him over slowly, as if evaluating the depths of his soul. “I think you are, even if you won’t admit it to yourself,” she said at last. “This life…it’s lonely. The burden of it doesn’t have to be yours alone to carry.”

Bruce stiffened. “I do just fine."

 _“Batman_ does,” she disagreed gently. “I’m not so sure about the man underneath.”

Bruce held his silence. It seemed safest.

Wonder Woman gazed at him knowingly. “I’ll let you return to your duties. Just know that Superman and I will be coming back. Just because you _can_ fight alone, doesn’t mean you _should.”_

She began to float upwards, then stopped. “I almost forgot!” she exclaimed. “And after I spent _weeks_ reading up on ideas.”

“Forgot what?” Bruce asked, curious despite himself.

Wonder Woman grinned at him, her entire expression lighting up. It was like staring into a small sun. “What do you call a bee that can’t make up its mind?”

Bruce floundered, caught completely off-guard by the question. “I don’t know.”

“A _maybe,”_ Wonder Woman told him proudly. She looked at him expectantly.

“Okay,” he replied, a little helplessly.

Wonder Woman nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Until next time!” she called as she flew off.

The encounter haunted Bruce for entirety of the next week.

*

Bruce regretted ever agreeing to join the Justice League. It wasn’t entirely his fault though. The combined power of Alfred, Diana, and Clark’s unwavering efforts had been too much to resist.

Bruce was only human, after all.

Besides, for all that he insisted otherwise, Bruce had grown a little fond of the alien and the princess.

The other League members…not so much.

“Oh! I’ve got one! What’s Batman’s favorite part of a joke?” Barry asked, almost vibrating with his excitement.

“What?” Oliver asked obligingly.

“The _punch_ line.”

“Good one!” Hal laughed. “How about this? What does Batman put in his drink?”

Barry shook his head.

“Just ice. Get it? Like _justice.”_

“Ha! What about—”

 _“Enough,”_ Bruce growled. Ever since he’d met Clark and Diana he’d had to endure an endless round of odd jokes and puns from them and seemingly every other hero he’d met. At first, he’d thought it was some kind of secret code. After _that_ didn’t pan out, Bruce had just assumed everyone in the League just had a terrible sense of humor.

Until he’d realized that he was _the only one_ getting bombarded with puns. Hazing was all well and good, but he’d reached his limit.

“Come on, Batsy,” Hal cajoled. “We were just having a little fun. Besides, we know how much you like puns.”

_What?_

Bruce hadn’t realized he’d asked the question out loud until Barry answered, “Yeah, we’ve known your secret for, like, a whole year. Geeze, was it really that long ago that we met those kids?”

 _“What kids?”_ Bruce demanded.

*****

BONUS

Dick didn’t know what he'd expected when he'd entered the Batcave, but two different versions of Bruce glaring at him simultaneously _wasn’t it._

“Um,” he said, wishing he’d brought Alfred down with him as backup. “What’s happening right now?”

One Bruce stepped forward. “This is me from another dimension,” he said. “The dimension you and the others visited about a year and a half ago.”

“Oh!” Dick exclaimed, his attention snapping to the other Bruce-- _Not-Bruce,_ Dick decided he'd call him. “So you _are_ real there! I thought you would be! Did Superman and Wonder Woman find you? They must have, if you’re here and you know we visited your dimension.”

“Yes, they found me,” Not-Bruce said with forced calm. “You’re the one who told them I like puns.”

“Um,” Dick said again, doing his best to ignore the raised eyebrow Bruce was giving him right now.

Not-Bruce took a deep breath. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?”

“Made your life a million times better?” Dick asked hopefully.

 _“Everyone_ —and I do mean _everyone—_ in the superhero community constantly makes puns around me,” Not-Bruce growled. _“All the time._ When we’re working cases, when we have team meetings—even during battles! And no matter what I say, I _can’t get them to stop.”_

Bruce coughed a little. If Dick hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Bruce was trying to hide a laugh.

“You’re welcome?” Dick tried, turning his attention back to Not-Bruce. “I mean, that sounds pretty awesome to me.”

It clearly wasn’t the response Not-Bruce was looking for. “One time, they actually made me judge a pun _contest._ I had to sit through at least ten different puns, each worse than the last, as they tried to see which would make me laugh out loud.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “But you’re saying that _no pun in ten did?”_

Dick could have heard a pin drop in the following silence.

"Did you just...?" he asked delightedly, eyes shining.

“I think I did,” Bruce admitted calmly, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Not-Bruce stared at Bruce with unwavering horror.

Dick was pretty sure this was the best day of his entire life.


	3. Huntress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bb_basbusa asked:  
> "how about helena wayne? And her relationship with prime earth batfam?"
> 
> A little explanation. Helena Wayne is an Earth-Two character in the DC comics. She is the daughter of Bruce and Selina. In Helena’s universe, Bruce and Selina got married and Helena becomes Huntress—a vigilante with the acrobatic chops of her mom and the heroic drive of her dad.
> 
> On Earth-Two, Bruce gives up the cowl after Selina’s death and focuses solely on efforts to save Gotham as a civilian. He’s killed in a fight after he agrees to put on the cowl one last time to help his city.
> 
> When we start this chapter, Helena is fully grown and has already lost both her parents. (It should be noted that Earth-Two Bruce and Selina appear to be older than the Bruce and Selina we know and love. The timelines don't quite match up between the two universes.)
> 
> I don’t know Helena’s character super well, but this was too good of a prompt to pass up! It takes quite a different tone from the first two chapters, despite still being about dimension travel.

She doesn’t know how she got here.

One moment, Helena is fighting with some new mask and the next she’s lying on the ground half-blind, ears ringing, and moments away from unconsciousness. She can barely recall the blast the knocked her down, but knows it must have been one _hell_ of a hit.

A shadow blurs into the edges of her vision. Helena trembles as the shape resolves into a familiar pointy-eared cowl.

_It can’t be. It can’t be him._

“Stay still,” the man in the cowl urges. “We’re going to get you some help.”

 _Oh god. His_ voice.

Helena reaches out, but her arms are too weak to actually make contact. This can’t be real. It _can’t_ be.

 _“Dad?”_ she gasps.

The man in the cowl freezes.

Helena wants to say more— _needs_ to say more—but the edges of her vision are tunneling rapidly into nothingness.

The last thing she hears before unconsciousness takes her is an annoyed, unfamiliar voice from somewhere nearby.

 _“Seriously,_ B? You were supposed to at least _text_ us if you decided to adopt another one.”

And then nothing.

*

Awareness returns to Helena slowly. She keeps her eyes closed and her breathing steady as she tries to get a sense of her surroundings. She remembers being in a fight and that she’d taken a bad hit. She remembers…

She remembers hallucinating her dad coming to save her.

That’s what it must have been—a hallucination.

Because her dad is gone.

“So have you called her yet?”

Helena almost jumps, but manages to keep still. She’s both relieved and disappointed to find she doesn’t recognize the voice.

She doesn't hear a reply, but there must have been one, because the person she'd heard before huffs in annoyance and says, “You know you _have_ to call her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Helena can’t stop the spike in her heartrate.

_That voice…_

But it _can’t_ be. Her father is _dead._ This can’t be—

“She’s awake,” a third voice says, this one much younger and much closer than the others had been.

Helena’s eyes snap open. There’s no point in maintaining the ruse anymore, not when she’s been called out. The first thing she sees is the familiar ceiling of the Batcave, drowning in shadowed recesses and dark corners.

The next thing she sees is a boy in Robin’s colors, but Dick isn’t that young and it’s the wrong uniform and _why does he look so much like her father?_

“Who are you?” she demands before she can help herself.

The boy draws himself up to his full height. “I am Damian Wayne, Ibn al Xu’ffasch.”

If the name _Wayne_ hadn’t given it away, Helena’s rusty Arabic would have gotten her there eventually.

“Son…of the Bat?” she translates slowly. “But that’s not…”

 _Possible,_ she starts to say, before looking to her left and seeing the _impossible_ standing before her.

“Dad?” she whispers.

But even as she says it, Helena knows something is wrong. The person standing before her is undoubtedly Bruce Wayne, but he’s far too young to be the same man Helena had buried.

The man who looks like her father grimaces faintly, something akin to pity in his eyes. “I’m not who you think I am," he says. "From what we were able to determine, you’re…a little lost.”

"That's a _bit_ of an exaggeration, B.”

Helena jumps. She doesn’t know how she managed to miss the other, older dark-haired boy standing at her da—at _Bruce’s_ side. She scrutinizes him closely, looking for traces of the Wayne features in his face too.

The boy catches her looking and smiles. “Bruce and Selina aren’t my parents,” he says. Helena realizes they must have tested her blood while she was unconscious to know who her parents are already. “We're not related. At least, not biologically. I’m Tim.”

Helena takes a breath and nods, filing the boy’s caveat aside for later examination.

“How much of an exaggeration?” she asks instead, getting back to the earlier conversation. She’s trying hard not to look at Bruce, but it’s nearly impossible not to sneak glances at him from under her lashes.

“You’re in the wrong universe,” Tim tells her frankly. “But don’t worry. We’re pretty sure we can get you back.”

_Another universe._

It makes sense. But it doesn’t lessen the disappointment as Helena _finally_ lets go of that last little bit of hope that her father was somehow _back._

“Wait—what do you mean _pretty sure?”_ Helena demands, her brain catching up with Tim’s words.

“Like…ninety percent. Probably closer to ninety-five. It’ll just take us a week or so to get everything sorted out,” Tim assures her.

Helena glares.

“Wow,” Tim says, glancing at the man next to him. “I can definitely see the resemblance. To you _and_ Selina.”

Behind her, Damian scoffs.

Meanwhile, her fath— _Bruce—_ is studying her features like they’re the answer to a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“What’s your name?” he asks softly.

Helena swallows hard. “Helena,” she answers, just as softly. “Helena Wayne.”

“Hi, Helena,” Bruce says, something vulnerable in his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Helena doesn’t know why, but hearing that makes her want to cry.

*

As it turns out, Tim’s seemingly innocuous statement of _“At least, not biologically”_ carries a good deal more importance than Helena had anticipated.

Because the Bruce Wayne of this Earth seems to have made a habit of adopting children and it feels as though _every single one of them_ swarms the intimately familiar and yet hauntingly foreign halls of Wayne Manor to come meet her in the ensuing days.

“Can you blame us?” Dick laughs when she mentions it to him. He’s got an arm slung around her shoulders because apparently Dick Grayson is a glutton for hugs in any universe and there’s something oddly comforting in that knowledge. “You’re from a different Earth _and_ you’re Bruce’s kid? We were practically _dying_ of curiosity.”

“Not all of you,” Helena mutters, watching as Damian stalks out of the room with one last angry glare in her direction. He’s ostensibly going to help Tim and Bruce work on building a device to get Helena home, but she’s half-convinced he’s just going off to stab some practice dummies with his katana instead.

He seems to have done that a lot since Helena’s arrival. She knows it’s not a coincidence.

A small hand pats her arm sympathetically. Helena has already decided to do everything in her power to find out if Cassandra Cain exists on her Earth and she’s only known the other girl for a day and a half.

“Not your fault,” Cass tells her.

Dick sighs. “Cass is right. This is between Damian and Bruce. They’ve only just started to really connect and I think he’s worried that your arrival could jeopardize that.”

Helena frowns. “What do you mean _just_ started? Damian’s at least twelve years old.”

"Yeah, but we didn’t get him until a few years ago,” Dick says.

“Life was so much more peaceful back then,” Steph sighs from where she’s stretched out on the floor.

Dick laughs. “No, it wasn’t.”

Steph elbows his leg. Dick nudges her ribcage with his foot, grinning. Helena shakes her head. It’s strange to see how close Dick is with so many people she’s never met. He's so similar to the man she knows that it's sometimes hard to remember he's not actually the same person.

She gets back to the matter at hand. “If Damian wasn’t with you guys, then where was he?”

“With his mom,” Steph explains. “She didn’t even tell Bruce he _existed_ for a long time.”

Helena stiffens angrily. “My mom wouldn’t do that,” she denies vehemently. Helena doesn’t care what universe she’s in. Selina Kyle would _never_ keep a secret like that and Helena will fight anyone who says differently.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Helena’s eyes snap to the room’s final occupant. She doesn’t quite know what to make of Jason yet. Which is alright, because Jason doesn’t seem to know what to make of her either.

“What do you mean?” Helena demands.

“Selina isn’t Damian’s mom,” Dick explains, shooting a warning glance in Jason’s direction. “His mother is part of an ancient order of assassins who dabble in world domination.”

Helena’s eyebrows go up. That…actually explains a lot. She says as much out loud.

Jason snorts. “Understatement of the century.”

*

“Where’s Selina?” Helena asks Alfred on the fourth day. She’s stifled her curiosity for as long as she can, but she _has_ to know where her mom is and, more importantly, why she isn’t _here._

Alfred’s gaze is just as sharp as it is back home, even if his surname is _Pennyworth_ and not _Beagle._

“Ms. Kyle doesn’t live at the Manor,” Alfred replies.

Helena frowns. She’d already gathered that _this_ Bruce and Selina weren’t married, but she’d just assumed that they were still _together._

Alfred’s tone is making her question that assumption for the first time.

“Are they…does she know…?” Helena tries to decide which question she wants to ask first and hopes she won’t regret the answers she receives.

“Why not speak to Master Bruce?” Alfred suggests.

Helena hesitates. It’s not that she’s _avoiding_ Bruce—she can’t help gravitating to any room that he’s in before long—but _talking_ to him is a different matter. She misses her father with her whole heart and she’s worried that getting close to _this_ Bruce may just make it worse, especially since she knows she'll have to give him up in a few days.

Whatever emotion Alfred sees on her face causes his expression to gentle. “Talk to him, Miss Helena,” he advises. “Before you lose your chance.”

Helena nods slowly. It’s an unspoken truth on her Earth that Alfred Beagle is always right. She’d be a fool to treat Alfred Pennyworth any differently.

And Helena is not a fool.

*

“The device is almost ready,” Bruce tells her. He looks tired, but Helena can’t blame him for that. He’s been working around the clock with Tim and the others to get her home. “Maybe another day or two at most.”

“Thanks,” Helena says. Studying Bruce’s features, it’s hard to believe she ever mistook him for her father. It’s not just how young he is—there are other differences too. More scars. A weight to his shoulders that her own father stopped carrying after he put aside the cowl.

A light in his eyes that Helena hadn’t seen in her father since her mother died.

“Alfred talked to you, didn’t he?” Bruce asks suddenly and Helena realizes that he’s been studying her the same way she was studying him. He smiles ruefully at her nod. “He’s been after me, too.”

Helena can’t help but smile back, just as rueful. “Some things don’t change, I guess,” she says. She digs her fingernails into her palms nervously. “I wanted to…I’m curious about…”

“Selina,” Bruce finishes with a sigh. “I figured. She and I are…it's complicated.”

“I figured,” Helena parrots.

She gets another smile for that. It makes Helena’s heart ache.

“Was…” Bruce stops and for a moment Helena’s unsure he’ll continue, but she should have known better. “Was it like that where you’re from?”

Helena chooses her words with care. She hasn’t told the others much about her universe, particularly about her parents. It’s more for Bruce’s sake than anyone else’s. Helena thinks it would be a terrible weight to know what an alternate version of yourself did in another world—a curse of _what ifs_ and doubt. Bruce doesn't need that on his shoulders. He has enough to worry about.

“There were complicated moments in my world, too,” she says, taking care with her tenses. She hasn’t told anyone that the Bruce and Selina of her world are gone either. “But in the end, they chose each other. It set them on a different path to yours.”

Bruce nods slowly, as if she’s confirmed something he’s already guessed. “The other Bruce…he never took in anyone except for Dick, did he?”

Helena startles. She’d done her best not to treat Dick any differently from the others.

Bruce sees her expression, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “You hid it well, but you weren’t surprised when Dick tried to give you a hug when you first met. Most people are.”

Helena scowls. Stupid Dick Grayson and his disrespect for personal boundaries.

“Dick is family in my world,” she admits begrudgingly.

“But not the others.”

“No,” Helena confirms.

Bruce nods. “I can’t say that I regret the choices I’ve made, then,” he says. “I can’t imagine my life without my children.”

Helena tries her best to hide how much that _hurts._ It’s not easy to be told by your father’s doppelganger that he doesn’t regret not having you.

“Hey,” Bruce calls softly and Helena’s eyes snap up to find him watching her. “I may not be him, but after knowing you for a week, I can guarantee he would have had no regrets about his choices, either.”

Helena bites her lip to stop it from trembling and wills herself not to cry.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Bruce asks gently, in the same tone her own father used to use when Helena was a child and scraped her knees playing. “In your world. Selina, too, I’m guessing.”

Helena nods wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “I don’t know what happened, but I know they wouldn’t have left you by choice.”

“It’s okay,” Helena manages, even though it really isn’t.

Bruce says nothing, but the next day, a young, beautiful, _fierce_ Selina arrives at Wayne Manor. Helena cries into her shoulder, clinging as tightly as she can.

It’s the first time she’s seen her mother’s face in anything other than a photograph in _years._

*

Saying goodbye is harder than Helena anticipates. She’s grown fond these people and it’s going to be difficult to go back to a world without them.

“Tell the other me I say hello,” Dick whispers in her ear as he gives her a final hug. Helena groans into his shoulder because apparently she hadn’t been able to fool _anyone_ about _anything._

“I will,” she sighs. He lets go and winks at her cheekily before going to stand with the others. Damian is glued to his side almost instantly. The boy had never really warmed up to Helena, but they’d managed some civil conversation in the last few days.

She takes a breath and turns to the last two people standing near the device. Selina moves forward and hugs her before Helena can even begin to think of what to say.

“You take care of yourself out there,” Selina tells her seriously.

“I will,” Helena promises, holding on for just a moment longer, before reluctantly letting Selina go. She turns to Bruce.

“Thank you,” she says, shifting uncertainly on her feet. She doesn't know if she should give Bruce a hug or not. “For everything.”

He clears his throat. “The device—it’ll travel with you to your universe. You should bring it back here sometime, let us know how it worked out.”

It takes Helena a moment to realize what he’s saying, what he’s offering. A huge grin breaks out over her face. “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

Bruce nods, a glimmer in his eye. “Might even have to come back a couple times.”

Helena’s grin widens. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I might just do that.”

Bruce finally smiles. “I'm looking forward to it.”


	4. Powers (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owllover22161 asked:
> 
> "Could you make a story where the bat clan temporarily gets powers? Maybe they’re all at the watch tower with the league because they’re waiting to ambush Bruce to make sure he doesn’t skip out on movie night or something and some kind of genie/wizard/higher being who has been observing their dimension feels like causing chaos and grants each of the bat clan a power that most suits their personality, but only for three days. Idk, I really just want to have a reason for Dick to be able to fly and enjoy himself in the air...and maybe have some uncle Clark/ Dick bonding time where Clark teaches Dick how to fly and (surprise surprise) he’s a natural. Maybe Tim could connect himself to technology, or Cass could be an empath? I’d just love to see what you do with the concept."
> 
> As you may have noticed from the title, this is part 1 of 2. I just had so many things that I wanted to do with this prompt and there wasn't enough space for them all in a single one-shot!

Clark was unusually worried as he knocked on the door to Wayne Manor. Having one or two of the Bats disappear for a few days wasn’t that odd.

But when almost the entire family vanished into the thin air, things started to get dicey. The Justice League was getting nervous that something big had gone down in Gotham, though it was equally likely that Bruce hadn’t answered their calls because he was being his usual stubborn self.

Either way, Clark was going to find out what was going on.

Clark heard Alfred’s footsteps long before the older man opened the door.

“Mr. Kent,” Alfred greeted with a somewhat tired smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m here to check on Bruce,” Clark explained. “Is everyone okay? Are _you_ okay?”

Alfred’s smile softened. “We’re fine, Mr. Kent. Would you like to come in? I’ll ring for Master Bruce. He’s _downstairs_ at the moment.”

Clark nodded in understanding, slipping inside the Manor. When Alfred said "downstairs"in _that_ particular tone, he was always referring to the Batcave.

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate it,” Clark said sincerely, a weight lifting off his shoulders at Alfred’s reassurances. While the other man busied himself contacting Bruce, Clark sent a quick text to Diana to let her know things were alright. The Amazonian warrior had been on stand-by to bring the full might of the Justice League down on Gotham if she didn’t hear back from Clark within the hour about the Wayne family’s whereabouts.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to make his way up. Clark did a quick scan with his x-ray vision, just to make sure his friend was fine. Though there were no physical injuries, Bruce also seemed more tired than usual.

“Clark,” he greeted with a nod. “Everything okay?”

“That’s what I came to ask _you,”_ Clark huffed. “You went completely radio silent and so did all the others.”

“We’re fine,” Bruce confirmed shortly. “Sorry you came out all this way. We won’t take up any more of your time.”

Clark raised his eyebrows at Bruce’s attempted dismissal. “Unless you’ve got some Kryptonite on your person, I’m not going anywhere until you explain.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed. After a moment, he jerked his head toward the grandfather clock in the study, inviting Clark to join him in the Batcave. He didn’t say anything at all as he called the elevator or as they stepped into it.

Clark’s patience ran out as soon as the elevator doors closed. “So are you going to tell me why you all vanished off the streets?” he demanded. “Because everyone was really worried. I almost had to fight Diana to see which one of us would check on you.”

Bruce sighed. “Pulling everyone from active duty was a precaution.”

“A precaution against what?” Clark persisted.

“It’ll be easier to show you.”

“Show me _what?”_

The elevator doors opened right on cue to reveal a laughing Stephanie Brown pulverizing a block of solid concrete into dust with a single punch as Jason and Duke egged her on.

“Um,” Clark said, dumbfounded. “So that’s new.”

He could _feel_ Bruce rolling his eyes. “A few nights ago, we were on our way back from patrol when someone claiming to be a wizard ambushed us. He said he wanted to give us ‘a gift’ and then he…did something—cast some kind of magic before we could stop him and vanished before we’d recovered.”

“Rao,” Clark swore quietly. “But everyone’s alright?”

“We’re fine. Constantine was just here. He confirmed the effects would wear off in a few more days.”

Clark frowned. “ _Effects?_ As in more than one?”

Bruce wordlessly gestured to the rest of the Batcave as he stepped out of the elevator. Clark followed distractedly, his attention caught by Babs sitting at the Batcomputer, lines of code flashing across the screen faster than even Clark could follow.

Which was impressive, considering Babs wasn’t even _touching_ the keyboard.

Just beyond her, Tim and Cass were sparring on the practice mats—hardly an unusual sight, except for the fact that Tim was _winning_. Clark didn’t think he’d _ever_ seen _any_ Bat beat Cass in sparring match one-on-one.

“Careful!” Bruce called sharply, throwing out a hand. Clark stopped instantly, his foot inches from a sleek black cat curled up on the walkway.

“Sorry,” Clark said sheepishly, backing away. He peered a little more closely. “I don’t recognize this one. I guess Damian got a new pet?”

“This _is_ Damian,” Bruce replied, bending down and gently scooping the cat up into his arms. The cat opened its eyes to glare at Clark with undisguised disdain as Bruce continued forward.

Clark stumbled after him. “The wizard turned Damian into a cat?!”

How on Earth was he going to explain this to Jon?

“No,” Bruce said impatiently. “Damian turned _himself_ into a cat. He’s tried a few different forms, but he seems to like this one the best.”

It took Clark’s brain a moment to process everything he’d just seen and another for it to make sense. “Wait—do you all have _powers_ now? _That’s_ what the wizard did?”

Bruce shrugged wordlessly and settled Damian on one of the medical cots. The boy-who-was-now-a-cat didn’t stay there long, glaring once more at Clark, before jumping down and slinking away into the shadows.

“You’re going to have to do a _little_ better than a shrug,” Clark informed his friend.

Bruce shot him a look not too dissimilar to the one Damian had just given him. “We’re still figuring it out ourselves,” he said. “Everyone’s abilities appear to be different. You’ve already seen Damian’s shapeshifting and Steph’s super-strength. Tim got some form of precognition. Barbara can control technology.”

“Cass?” Clark asked, eyeing the on-going sparring match with renewed interest. Tim having precognition explained _a lot._

“She’s an empath. Able to sense and manipulate emotion.”

Clark glanced back at his friend. “And you?”

Bruce made a face. “I got this,” he said and turned his hands palm up. Clark startled as living shadows oozed from Bruce's skin, enveloping his arms completely in darkness.

“Holy crap,” Clark gasped quietly.

Bruce seemed to concentrate for a moment and then the shadows faded. “Duke’s been helping me learn to use it. I can sort of…teleport, I guess you’d call it, between shadows too.”

“Any side effects?” Clark asked.

“Not yet,” Bruce replied. “Constantine examined the spell, said it was benevolent. I was thinking about calling in Zatanna for a second opinion.”

“And it won’t be permanent,” Clark confirmed.

“According to Constantine,” Bruce said, his tone just a little doubtful.

“Well, the shadow powers are cool. And they _do_ fit your aesthetic.” Clark snorted, a sudden thought occurring to him. “Oh man, now you _have_ to say the thing. It’s too good not to.”

“What thing?”

 _"You_ know.” When Bruce continued to stare at him blankly, Clark dropped his voice into his best Batman impression and said, _“I am the night.”_

Bruce glared, entirely unamused. “I’m not saying that.”

“But it’s _perfect.”_

“This isn’t _funny,_ Clark.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Hey, Clark!” Dick’s voice interrupted. “Up here!”

Clark tilted his head back, mouth falling open in surprise as he caught sight of Dick hovering near the ceiling without a single rope or grappling line in sight.

“Is he…?”

“Flying?” Bruce said, still sounding grumpy. “Yes. What don’t you go say hi?”

Clark saw straight through him. “You just want me to stop teasing you.”

_“Hn.”_

Clark snorted and drifted upward, patting Bruce’s shoulder as he passed by.

“Is flying really this much fun all the time?” Dick asked as Clark approached. “Because if it is, then I am officially jealous. How do you not fly _everywhere?_ ”

Clark laughed. “It’s tempting,” he admitted. “How are you doing? I know learning control can be tricky at first.”

“Nah, I figured that out pretty fast,” Dick told him. “I would’ve come down to say hello sooner, but _someone_ was being a _total jerk_ about having powers,” he continued, his voice growing louder as he directed the last part of his sentence toward the cave floor. Jason looked up, grinned, and stuck out his tongue.

“What’s Jason done now?” Clark asked.

“He got telekinesis,” Dick sighed. “And he’s been practicing by refusing to let me land for the last hour.”

“It’s for your own good,” Jason called up to them, his voice far too smug to be convincing. “I’m just helping you get acclimated.”

“You’re being an _asshole,”_ Dick shot back. Jason gestured and Dick was suddenly plastered to the nearest stalactite, unharmed, but unable to pry himself away even with his new powers.

“Sorry!” Jason said. “I didn’t quite catch that!”

Before Dick could come up with a suitable response, Tim suddenly gasped, the distressed sound drawing everyone’s attention. Cass managed to pull the punch she’d been throwing before it smacked him in the jaw.

“Not again,” Tim groaned, mere seconds before Babs shouted, “There’s a breakout happening at Arkham!”

The flurry of activity was instant. Jason released his telekinetic hold on Dick, who shot toward the ground, Clark on his tail. The others gathered in close as Babs kept one hand on the Batcomputer, eyes flickering strangely as images and text raced across the screen at breakneck speeds

“Babs,” Bruce growled, clearly growing impatient.

“Sorry,” she said absently. “I’ve taken control of the Arkham security system. I’m doing what I can to help the guards there. I think I can keep most people from escaping, but the big names are already out. I’m running a program to track them through the city’s cameras. They won’t get away. God, this is _so_ much easier with these powers.”

“We have to get out there, Bruce,” Dick said, all traces of levity gone from his face. Damian—who had at some point resumed his human form—stood at his side.

“I can help,” Clark offered instantly.

Bruce shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, adamant. “You stay here. We’ll handle this.”

“But your powers,” Clark protested.

“Exactly,” Jason said. “These assholes aren’t going to know what hit 'em.”

“You _will_ let us use our powers out there, won’t you, Father?” Damian asked.

Bruce was the sudden focus of eight different sets of eyes. He hesitated.

“You always say surprise is one of our greatest assets,” Steph pointed out.

“And Duke uses his powers all the time,” Jason added.

“That’s a little different,” Duke said, making a face.

Jason made a face back. “Is it, though?”

Clark braced for an argument, but Cass placed one hand on Jason’s shoulder and another on Duke’s and suddenly both boys were calm.

“Could be useful,” she said quietly.

Bruce frowned.

A moment later, Tim started grinning.

“Alright,” Bruce relented. “But _only_ as a last resort.”

Steph cackled in a way Clark did not find reassuring in the slightest.

“Oh hell yes,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “This is going to be _so much fun.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: Gotham's villains have no idea what's coming for them.


	5. Powers (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owllover22161 asked: 
> 
> "Could you make a story where the bat clan temporarily gets powers? Maybe they’re all at the watch tower with the league because they’re waiting to ambush Bruce to make sure he doesn’t skip out on movie night or something and some kind of genie/wizard/higher being who has been observing their dimension feels like causing chaos and grants each of the bat clan a power that most suits their personality, but only for three days. Idk, I really just want to have a reason for Dick to be able to fly and enjoy himself in the air...and maybe have some uncle Clark/ Dick bonding time where Clark teaches Dick how to fly and (surprise surprise) he’s a natural. Maybe Tim could connect himself to technology, or Cass could be an empath? I’d just love to see what you do with the concept."
> 
> As promised, here is Part 2! I hope it doesn't disappoint!

“Oh dear. You’ve captured me,” the Red Hood sighed again. Though the vigilante was disarmed and tied to a chair, no one had figured out how to take his helmet off without getting tased. “I’m so helpless. Whatever am I going to do?”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed. The Hood was up to something. He was probably stalling until one of the other little masked freaks could arrive to set him free.

Too bad Oswald wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Lester,” he said, naming one of his more bloodthirsty lieutenants. “Take care of this trash, will you?”

Lester grinned and pulled out his gun. “My pleasure, boss.”

The Red Hood tilted his head. “You sure you know how to use that?”

Lester’s grin widened. “You're about to get a firsthand demonstration,” he replied, moving closer as he pointed the barrel at the Hood’s helmet, right between those glowing eyes.

Oswald braced for his moment of victory. Instead, he watched as Lester somehow tripped over his own feet and managed to shoot himself in the leg. His lieutenant crumpled, howling in pain.

“Ouch,” the Hood said cheerfully, seemingly not surprised in the slightest by his sudden good fortune. “That looked like it hurt. Mind if I take over?”

Oswald’s eyes bulged as the Hood slipped his bindings with ease and rose, grabbing Lester’s abandoned weapon as he stood.

“Get him!” Oswald yelled. His men belatedly reached for their weapons, guns and knives emerging from holsters and pockets all around the room.

The Hood cracked his neck. “Let’s do this.”

The fight was short and bloody. Even without his gear, the Hood was a terrifyingly efficient fighter. Bullets and knife blades seemed to slide past him, as if driven off course by some invisible force before they reached him.

It was clear within the first few minutes that things were not going to go Oswald’s way. Unfortunately, the Red Hood was between Oswald and the exit. Even if he stuck to the edges of the room, the probability of Oswald getting caught was high.

And Oswald had no intention of getting caught. Not again.

He waited for his moment. As the Hood finished off the last of his men, Oswald slipped into position. The vigilante turned, only to find Oswald’s gun pointed squarely at his forehead.

“Goodbye, freak,” Oswald spat and pulled the trigger.

The bullet streaked past the Hood’s head and impacted on the wall behind him.

Oswald pulled the trigger again.

The second bullet curved the exact same way the first had and pinged off the wall behind the Hood.

Incensed, Oswald emptied the clip, closing the distance between him and the Hood as he fired. By the last shot, he was less than a foot away from the vigilante.

Not a single bullet had managed to hit the Red Hood.

“What the hell is _happening?”_ Oswald shrieked. He couldn’t understand it. The Hood was standing _right there_ like a big lump and Oswald hadn’t hit him _once._

“Guess you need some target practice,” the Red Hood said, sounding amused. “Too bad you won’t be getting any in Arkham.”

Oswald looked up in time to see the Hood’s fist heading right for his face.

“Oh fu—”

*

Bane was annoyed. He’d broken out of Arkham to find and defeat the Batman once and for all.

Instead, he was dealing with an annoying girl in purple who refused to go away.

“Come on!” the girl taunted as she somersaulted away from one of Bane’s men. “You too scared fight me yourself?”

“I am scared of nothing,” Bane growled back. “Least of all children playing dress up.”

“Then prove it!” the girl demanded, snapping out a kick that floored one of his newer recruits. “Unless you want all of Gotham to know you’re a big dumb coward.”

Bane made a sudden sharp gesture. His men immediately backed off, forming a loose ring around the girl. Bane pushed through them, joining the girl in the center of the open space.

“I will fight you,” he declared. “And after I kill you, I will leave your broken corpse for the Bat to find so he will know he is next.”

Instead of cowering in fear, the girl in purple whistled softly. “Wow do _you_ have some issues,” she said, shaking her head. “So any rules to this fight I should know about?”

Bane chuckled darkly. “Just one: there are no rules,” he said and attacked.

The girl ducked under his first punch and narrowly avoided his follow-up jab. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she informed him, cartwheeling away from his next series of blows. “If there’s _one_ rule, then there can’t be _no_ rules. That’s literally against the definition of having _no rules.”_

Bane said nothing and charged instead. The girl was just fast enough to avoid his attacks, but not fast enough to land any hits of her own. Just as he’d thought, this girl was no contest at all. He would wear her down soon enough.

And yet she was _still_ chattering away, seemingly unconcerned by the inevitability of her defeat, talking just loudly enough that Bane could hear her over the cheers and shouts of his men.

“I mean, I _get_ that you’re trying to sound cool and all, but it really just makes it seem like you don’t understand how rules work—which, hey, maybe you don’t! Is that why you became a criminal? Do rules confuse you or something? We could help you with that!”

“Shut _up,”_ Bane hissed, throwing another punch and hitting only empty air. “The first thing I am going to do is break your jaw.”

“Um, rude,” the girl said, stopping for a moment to glare at him.

It was a fatal mistake.

With a savage joy, Bane put every ounce of strength into a punch that he knew would shatter the girl’s sternum. He relished the idea of watching this annoying girl die slowly and painfully.

Until the girl reached out with one hand and _caught his punch mid-air._

The entire room fell silent. Bane gaped. His muscles bulged as he tried to move his arm forward.

His arm didn’t move an inch.

“Damn,” the girl said scoffed. “Do you even lift, bro?”

Bane swung at her with his other hand.

The girl caught that fist, too, stopping it cold. Her eyes narrowed and her grip suddenly tightened.

Bane screamed as the bones in his hands broke. He dropped to his knees. The headbutt that followed sent him crashing to the floor, ears ringing and nose gushing blood.

“Now that I have your attention,” the girl said, releasing Bane and raising her voice so that everyone in the room could hear. “It’s time for Spoiler’s lecture on why toxic masculinity is bad for you. Listen up, boys! This is going to change your lives.”

*

Scarecrow walked down the darkened streets, arms spread, a cloud of fear toxin and the screams of his victims following wherever he went. Tonight, he would bring Gotham to its knees. Tonight, he would unleash hell itself and watch as the city tore itself apart through fear.

The Batman would not be able to stop him. Not this time.

Not ever again.

Then _Scarecrow_ would be the one who ruled this city. _Scarecrow_ would be the one who…

The one who…

Scarecrow hesitated. Something had changed. It took him a several seconds to realize that the street around him was quiet.

 _The screams had stopped_.

He turned, more fear toxin puffing out around him. If he still had toxin, then why had the screaming stopped?

He squinted into the darkness. A moment later, his eyes grew wide underneath his mask as a small figure in all black emerged from night, pacing silently toward him. Behind her, Scarecrow’s victims were staring around in confusion, their once-terrified faces settling into a deep, placid calm.

No. _No._ This was supposed to be _his_ night of triumph! Scarecrow raised a hand and blasted fear toxin directly into the oncoming vigilante’s face. She continued forward, as inexorable as the dawn.

“This isn’t _possible,”_ Scarecrow hissed. “How? _How?”_

Though he could not see her eyes through her mask, Scarecrow knew she was looking at him.

“Not afraid,” she answered.

Her hand snaked out faster than Scarecrow could follow, grabbing him by the throat. Her voice, which had been calm before, suddenly hardened.

“But _you_ will be.”

*

Edward took a deep breath. “What is the beginning of eternity, the end of—”

Red Robin folded his arms. “The letter ‘e.’”

Edward’s eye twitched. Fine. It was fine. His brain worked so quickly that it had already moved on to the next riddle anyway. “What belongs to you—”

“Your name.”

“How many sides—”

“Two. Inside and outside.”

“I have billions of eyes, but live in—”

“The human brain.”

“Stop _doing that!”_ Edward snapped, losing his cool.

Red Robin yawned.

Edward’s fists clenched. The brat had actually _yawned._ How _dare_ he?! Edward was going to murder him. And then he was going to murder _Batman_ for ever training such an insufferable little weasel.

“Look, it’s getting late, Eddie,” Red Robin said. “How about this? You try one more riddle. I guess wrong and you get to go free. But if I guess right? Then you have to go back to Arkham. Deal?”

Edward hesitated, but he already knew he would take the deal. He had to show this smirking child just who the smarter man was around here.

Luckily, he had the _perfect_ riddle.

He cleared his throat. “I speak without a mouth—”

“It’s an echo.”

Edward gave a wordless cry of rage and charged at Red Robin. The kid neatly side-stepped him, sticking out a foot to trip Edward as he went rushing by. He hit the floor _hard,_ groaning as all the muscles in his body tried to complain at once.

A second later, he felt strong hands pulling his arms back. The chill of handcuffs settling around his wrists was depressingly familiar.

“Come on, Nygma,” Red Robin said. “Let’s get you back.”

“I hate you,” Edward grumbled vindictively as the boy helped him stand.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.”

They started for the exit. Edward snuck a glance at the kid sidelong. “What has branches—”

“A library.”

_“GAH! STOP DOING THAT!”_

*

Firefly loved soaring above the city. He particularly loved watching the way his fires danced and snapped below, growing larger as he helped the flames spread.

Fire was the most beautiful thing in the world.

The screams of the people below him were a close second.

“It’s over, Lynns!” a voice called. Firefly looked down, spotting the electric blue of Nightwing’s uniform on a nearby roof.

Firefly laughed. “Only if you catch me,” he replied and shot off into the night. He glanced back, noting that the vigilante was racing after him across the rooftops of the city.

Firefly laughed again. Nightwing was a _fool_ if he thought he could keep up on foot. Firefly had escaped the _Batmobile_ with these wings. There was no way Nightwing would be able to catch him.

But when he looked back a second time, Firefly frowned.

Was it his imagination or was Nightwing _gaining_ on him?

Firefly shook his head and put on a burst of speed, weaving around several buildings and diving out of Nightwing’s sightline for good measure. He looked over his shoulder, hovering for a moment over the roof of an apartment complex, and grinned _._ No sign of the vigilante. The idiot should have known better than to challenge—

“Hey, Lynns!”

Firefly started and looked down. Nightwing waved at him cheerily from the roof right next to the one Firefly was hovering over. Before Firefly could react, Nightwing took a running start and _leapt,_ flipping over and over in the air directly toward him.

Reacting instinctively, Firefly shot upward, giving himself more altitude. _There._ No _way_ Nightwing was going to reach. Gravity would pull him down long before that.

Except it _didn’t._ Firefly’s eyes widened in panic as Nightwing seemed to shrug off the effects of gravity and _keep moving upward._ The two of them crashed together and Nightwing struck fast, using his escrima sticks to destroy Firefly’s mechanical wings.

They plummeted to the rooftop. Firefly landed _hard,_ crying out as his shoulder was wrenched from the socket. For a second, it looked like Nightwing would crash too, but he seemed to slow at the last possible moment and land gracefully on his feet.

“Guess you're feeling a little _put out,_ right, Lynns?” Nightwing taunted.

Firefly groaned, clutching his hurt shoulder.

Nightwing sighed. “Absolutely no appreciation for my puns. Just tragic. Alright, let's get you back to Arkham.”

* 

Selina cracked her whip threateningly, forcing the men trying to encircle her to flinch back. “I warned you stay out of my territory, Dent,” she hissed.

Two-Face sneered. Or maybe it was a smile. It was hard to tell. “Once upon a time, that threat would’ve carried weight,” he said. “But not now. You’ve been… _declawed_ by the Bat and we all know it.”

Selina smiled, showing all her teeth. “Come a little closer, Harvey, and you’ll find that my claws are real enough.”

Two-Face laughed, flipping his silver coin into the air with practiced ease. “Not interested. This isn’t personal, you know. I just want Batman to suffer. Killing you will take care of that nicely.”

There was a soft _meow_ from shadows. Selina risked a glance down to find a slender black cat prowling toward her, fur bristling aggressively.

 _“Shoo,”_ she hissed at it. She didn’t want the poor thing to get hurt.

The cat ignored her, positioning itself between Selina and Two-Face’s men, lithe body settling into a hunter’s crouch.

Two-Face look amused. “Kill them both,” he ordered his men. The one in front of Selina raised his gun.

The cat pounced. Selina cried out, leaping forward to try and stop it, and pulled up short.

Because where there had been just a plain black cat a moment ago, an enormous panther stood in its place, raking its claws down the face and arms of Two-Face’s goon.

If Selina was shocked, it was _nothing_ compared to the way Two-Face’s men were staring, open-mouthed in horror. Selina recovered first, lashing out with her whip and taking out two more men before they’d remembered her as a threat.

Together, she and the panther made quick work of Two-Face’s men. Selina kept a wary eye on the beast, but it didn’t seem inclined to go after her. Indeed, when Two-Face cut his losses and took off down the street, the panther shot after him, bringing him down in a pounce filled with so much lethal grace that it almost made Selina jealous.

Two-Face struggled for a moment and the panther slashed down twice with its claws. Then man went still.

She made sure all the other attackers were taken care of and cautiously approached. She didn’t want to fight this wild animal—or _whatever_ it was—but she also wasn’t going to let Two-Face die.

Not that she cared if Two-Face survived. But Bruce would be upset and a brooding Bruce was only fun when _she_ was the cause of his frown.

The big cat looked up as she approached, eyes glowing in the streetlights. Its form blurred for a moment and then suddenly Damian was standing there in his Robin uniform, expression just as disdainful as the panther’s had been.

Selina stopped. It wasn’t often that she found herself at a loss of words, but right now, she was well and truly speechless.

Damian huffed at her expression and set about cuffing Two-Face’s wrists. _That,_ at least, was enough to snap Selina out of her shock.

“He’s not dead, then?”

“Of course not,” Damian said, sounding annoyed. “He’s unconscious. I only lightly mauled him.”

“Only…” Selina shook her head. “Kid, what the hell _was_ that?”

“You heard Dent,” Damian said. “You are now a target because my father. I was merely attempting to bolster your failing reputation. The story of what happened here tonight will spread. People will be less likely to attack you if they fear you.”

“My street cred is just fine, thank you very much,” Selina informed him, putting her hands on her hips. “I _meant_ since when do you have powers?”

“Oh,” Damian said. “A few days ago, just like the others.”

Selina’s eyebrows shot up. Bruce and his kids got into all _sorts_ of trouble when she wasn’t around. “What the hell is going on in that house of yours?”

“Nothing that concerns _you,”_ Damian snapped.

Selina hid a smile at the kid’s prickliness. He and Bruce were _so_ alike. “You know I’ll just ask your dad.”

Damian made a disgruntled noise in reply.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks anyway for the save—not that I needed it. It’s nice to know you care, though.”

Damian stiffened. “I do _not._ It made strategic sense to help so my family doesn’t have to keep wasting time protecting you.”

“Okay, kid. Whatever you say.”

“I _don’t_ like you.”

“Uh-huh. _Sure.”_

*

The Mad Hatter giggled as Batgirl swung into the room, breaking the window in a shower of glass. His minions, safely under his control, didn’t so much as flinch at her entrance.

“Let them go, Tetch,” Batgirl ordered.

“I think they want to stay,” the Mad Hatter replied. “After all, we’re all mad here.”

His minions attacked. The Hatter grinned as he watched them. He’d figured out some improvements to his mind-control technology while wasting away in his cell in Arkham. Resisting was all but impossible now.

Batgirl danced around her opponents, looking for an opening. Hatter watched eagerly as she managed duck under the punch of one assailant and swipe the hat right off the head of another, hoping to break the connection.

But the man kept attacking, throwing Batgirl off-balance.

Hatter grinned. He’d finally done it. He’d perfected his mind-control mechanism to work even _without_ the hats.

“The only way to stop them now is to go off with their heads!” he taunted Batgirl.

This was going precisely as he had hoped. Indeed, the Hatter could already see how this was going to play out. Batgirl would fight and lose and ultimately be overwhelmed, her desire not to hurt the civilians Hatter was controlling hampering her ability to get away.

And once she was subdued…

Well. It was going to be the feather in Hatter’s cap to finally have a Bat under his contr—

“Just need to isolate the code and… _gotcha!”_ Batgirl exclaimed.

Hatter looked up in time to see Batgirl release the arm of the hat-less man. The civilian blinked, clearly confused by his surroundings, and stopped attacking.

Hatter leapt to his feet. “No! That’s impossible!” he shouted. His control was _absolute,_ the technology _unstoppable._

Batgirl grinned at him, even as she knocked the hat off another assailant as he rushed by. Soon all of Hatter’s followers were sans hats and stumbling away, control broken after a simple touch of Batgirl’s hand.

Hatter was too incensed to realize that he should have slipped out the back ages ago. Before he knew what was happening, he was in cuffs and being delivered back into the hands of the GCPD.

“Impossible,” he kept muttering. “That was impossible!”

And it _was._ Hatter had tested the tech. Nothing should have been able to break his control. _Nothing._

Batgirl winked at him as he was loaded into the back seat of a cop car. “I sometimes believe as much as six impossible things before breakfast,” she informed him.

Hatter gaped at her, staring back in her direction long after she’d disappeared into the night.

*

Chuckles hastily lowered his gaze as the Joker walked by, inspecting their handiwork. Even though he’d been a loyal follower of the Clown Prince of Crime for years, Chuckles knew it was better not to draw attention to himself. The Joker was brilliant and powerful and terrifying, but most of all, he was _unpredictable._ There was no telling what he might decide to do, even to his own people.

Which was how Chuckles knew the Joker would be the one to bring down the Bat and rule Gotham. None of the other so-called rogues stood a chance.

Take tonight, for instance. The Joker had only been out of an Arkham cell for six hours and he’d _already_ set the perfect trap for Batman. They’d wired every single entrance with explosives linked to a civilian hostage tied up nearby. If Batman tried to swoop in and rescue them— _boom!_ Some innocent little nobody was gonna get their head blown off the second he opened a door.

And if he didn’t come within the set time limit, the Joker was going to kill them anyway.

Either way, that blood would be on Batman’s hands.

Some of the other men didn’t get it, but Chuckles did. This was a trap designed to break the Bat’s spirit.

Then they’d finish him off for good.

“Time’s almost up,” the Joker said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “He’ll be here any minute.”

A gruff voice spoke from the shadows, sending a chill down Chuckles’ spine.

“I already am.”

The room plunged into darkness.

Chuckles froze. Something was _wrong._ He couldn’t see _anything—_ not even his hand when he cautiously waved it in front of his face. Panicking, he reached up and gently touched his eyes. Had he gone blind? But no, everything seemed fine. Besides, he could hear the panicked shouts and screams of the other men, echoing across the building. Whatever was the Bat had done, it was happening to all of them.

 _Fucking hell._ Chuckles was not prepared for this. He’d faced down Batman before, but this felt different. Maybe the Joker had pushed Batman too far this time. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. Maybe they shouldn’t have—

As suddenly as they’d gone out, the lights were back. Chuckles flinched, shielding his eyes against glare.

Someone cleared their throat. Chuckles blinked tears from his eyes and looked up to find a boy in a bright yellow suit grinning at him. Beyond him, Chuckles could just make out the sinister shape of Batman taking down three men at once, his cape twisting and writhing like it was made of living shadows. The Joker was already unconscious and tied up not twenty feet away.

“How did you…the hostages…” Chuckles stuttered, stumbling back from the kid in yellow. The boy followed him, every step graceful and sure.

“Already free,” the kid said. Chuckles remembered belatedly that his name was the Signal. He’d never actually seen the kid in person before. “A word of advice? If you ever get out of prison, I’d leave town for a bit. Batman is _pissed_ and he’s _definitely_ going to hold a grudge. But for right now, I think it’s time for a little nap.”

Chuckles frowned. “A nap? What do you—”

Signal’s first punch caught him square in the jaw. The second sent him tumbling into unconsciousness before he’d even hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Batman's section:
> 
> I paired Duke up with Bruce for a very specific reason. One of Duke's abilities as a meta is to enhance other people's powers. If he'd tried to go in alone, Bruce wouldn't have been able to teleport in, black out the whole building, and teleport the civilians safely away all at once. But with Duke...well. Team work makes the dream work!
> 
> As for the other sections, I thought long and hard about how to write all these different villain POVs. I referred to some of them by their real names and some not, because you just *know* there are some Gotham rogues who genuinely think of themselves as their alter ego and some who don't.
> 
> I didn't even attempt to write in the Joker's POV though. That was not a headspace I wanted to be in, even for a little while. And so Chuckles got his big debut instead!
> 
> Selina I just threw in there for fun. I like writing Selina.


	6. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lullabyfortheforgotten asked:
> 
> "I am curious though : could you do something about Damian and Diana having a chat? Between Damian's knowledge in matters of war and things children aren't usually interested in, I've always wondered how he'd get along with an Amazon. (Honestly, I think his first reaction would be to ask why they are called Amazon's if they still have both breasts - - that's what the word means, since they were said to amputate one breast to use a bow more efficiently.)"
> 
> Here's something short and sweet for the holiday. Enjoy!

Diana settled lightly on the steel beam near the very top of the Watchtower’s meeting room. Below, members of the League mingled and laughed, sharing moments of quiet comradery after a long day of battle.

Even Bruce appeared to be enjoying himself, locked into conversation with Clark and Arthur. Diana could have joined them, but she’d noticed Damian hiding himself up in the rafters not long after the League returned to the Watchtower. Bruce was keeping an eye on him -- she could tell by the way he kept his body angled toward his son at all times -- but Diana didn't like the thought of anyone being alone after a battle. 

“May I?” she asked the boy politely, gesturing at the space beside him.

The corners of Damian's mouth turned down. "If you insist," he said, sounding annoyed. But he shifted over to make a little more space on the beam. Diana sat gracefully, letting her legs dangle into empty space.

“You fought well today,” she said, taking it upon herself to break the silence.

“Of course,” Damian said. He hesitated, then added begrudgingly, "You did as well."

“Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

Damian looked a little surprised. “It does?” he blurted, seemingly without meaning to.

“My people respect skill when they see it,” Diana replied. “No matter the age of the warrior.”

Damian said nothing, but his posture relaxed considerably.

Diana smiled to herself and gazed down at the room, enjoying the sight of her brothers and sisters in arms finding peace in each other’s company. In many ways, man’s world was very different to Themyscira, but this…this felt familiar.

She mentioned as much to Damian. The boy made a soft noise of agreement. This time, when the silence fell, Diana let it. Many of her teammates couldn’t stand sitting in silence, but Diana didn’t mind it. Sometimes words were unneeded.

But, as Diana watched Damian’s gaze flick towards her and away, she realized that this was not one of those times.

“You can ask,” she said finally, when it occurred to her that he wouldn’t speak without prompting.

Damian started a little, as if surprised by being called out. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “Just…I’ve made a point of studying warrior cultures around the world and there are a lot of… _discrepancies_ with the history of the Amazons. For example, it’s been suggested by scholars that the etymology of the word ‘Amazon’ comes from the Greek _‘a’_ and _‘mazos.’_ But that seems unlikely, given what we now know about your people.”

“You’re right,” Diana said, impressed both by the question and his obvious interest in the subject. “Like many legends about my sisters, that one isn’t true.”

“I thought not,” Damian replied, sounding self-satisfied. He sent another sidelong glance in her direction.

Diana stifled a smile. “You can ask another. Ask as many as you like, in fact.”

Damian needed no further encouragement. Indeed, it was as if the floodgates had opened. “Your training—did you begin with the sword? Who trained you? Do Amazons train to fight alone or as a cohesive unit? Do you favor Greek tactics or have you designed your own ways of fighting?”

Diana huffed an incredulous laugh. Dick had told her that the aloofness Damian often displayed was a front, but this was the first that Diana was seeing beyond it. She was honored that the boy felt safe enough to drop his guard around her.

“Let me see,” she said, trying to remember all his questions. “No, I didn’t start with a sword, but that was only because I was being trained in secret for the first few years—my mother didn’t want me to fight. I was taught by Antiope, my aunt. Amazons learn to fight both together and alone.”

“And your tactics?” Damian pressed.

Diana grinned. “The Greeks learned from _us,_ not the other way around. Though we aren’t nearly as limited as they were. Greater strength and speed give us an incredible advantage on a battlefield.”

“Do all your people fight?” Damian continued. Diana began to wonder how long he’d been holding on to all these questions.

“We all receive some training, but no, not all are warriors," she said, shaking her head. "We also have artists and traders and healers and builders—people who keep our culture alive and strong. If you could see the great palace of Themyscira, you would know that Amazonian hands are meant for so much more than war. It is the most beautiful place in the world.”

Damian looked at her for a moment. “Do you miss it?” he asked, nothing but honest curiosity in his voice.

“Every day,” Diana told him. “Some days, I miss it so much that I can hardly breathe.”

“Then why stay here?”

“There are people here who need help,” Diana said simply. “I have the ability to help them. How could I not stay? Is that not the same reason you chose to remain with your father?”

“I wanted to learn from him,” Damian disputed. “His fighting style—”

“I’ve seen you fight, little warrior,” Diana interrupted. “There is little left for Bruce to teach you that you do not already know. I think you wanted to learn something else from him.”

Damian looked down. “Maybe,” he said at last.

Diana wanted to say more, but a shout from Barry distracted her.

“Hey, Diana,” the speedster yelled up to her. “Come settle this for us?”

“I’ll be right there!” Diana replied. She turned back to Damian. “Would you like to come down with me?”

“No.”

“Very well,” she said, nodding to him in farewell.

Damian’s soft voice stopped her.

"Thank you.”

Diana looked at him, genuinely surprised. “For what?”

“Answering my questions.”

“No need to thank me,” Diana told him warmly. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“So did I,” Damian admitted, finally meeting her gaze again.

“Perhaps we can talk again sometime,” Diana offered, smiling at him.

Damian tentatively smiled back. “I’d like that.”


	7. Protective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> legality asked:
> 
> "Can you do a one with damian gets shot near the heart and the other bats are freaking out about it? All of them are very overprotective of damian after this, even jason."
> 
> Happy New Year everyone!! Here's a little over-protective Batfam to kick 2021 off!

Time seemed to slow.

Damian could see what was about to happen. The mugger’s aim was off. The store’s security guard, who was wearing a bulletproof vest and therefore would have survived, was not going to get hit.

No, based on the positioning of the mugger’s arm, it was the woman near Damian who was going to take the bullet--the woman carrying a small child, who couldn’t have been more than three years old.

Damian wasn’t in his Robin uniform. He wasn’t wearing any protective armor. He was simply Damian Wayne, son of Gotham’s wealthiest citizen, out on a walk with some friends after school.

None of that mattered.

Time seemed to speed up.

The mugger’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Damian stepped in front of the woman and her child.

The gun fired.

* 

Damian opened his eyes slowly. His head felt too heavy for his body, his thoughts sluggish and half-formed. Belatedly, he recognized the feeling of heavy painkillers numbing his system. Why was he on painkillers? What was going on?

He looked around. He didn’t recognize his location, but it had the stark, utilitarian feel of a hospital room. There was no light coming through the window—which meant nighttime, Damian’s too-slow brain informed him. But even so, he could make out a number of slumbering figures, slumped across various pieces of furniture in the room, lit by the glow of a single dim lamp.

The two closest figures were hunched over in uncomfortable plastic chairs, faces tired and pale and drawn. It took Damian a moment too long to recognize the man with the unshaven face and the deep shadows under his eyes as his father.

Beside him, Grayson looked no better, his normally handsome face haggard with worry. The skin around his eyes was puffy and red, as though he had been crying for some time.

If Damian hadn’t been so muddled, he would’ve been furious. Who had made Grayson cry? Damian would find them and make them suffer...just as soon as he got out of this hospital bed.

As if drawn by his thoughts, Grayson’s gaze snapped up to meet his. His lips parted in surprise. Then—

“You’re awake,” Grayson breathed, sounding more relieved than Damian had ever heard him. “Oh my god—Bruce. _Bruce! He’s awake!”_

*

Damian was relieved to walk through the front door of the Manor. The wound in his chest hadn't entirely healed—it would take months to get back to normal—but the thought of being in his own room again made the discomfort of leaving the hospital more than worth it.

 _Especially_ since going back to the Manor meant getting some peace and quiet at last. Looking back, Damian didn’t think he’d been alone for a single moment since he’d woken up in the hospital bed. At least one family member had always been present—usually two or more since his father and Grayson had practically been glued to his side the entire time.

Damian could appreciate their worry, but he was _fine_ now. The doctors had assured everyone that a full recovery was well underway.

It was time for the hovering to come to an end.

He accepted Grayson’s help to get up the staircase and eagerly opened the door to his room. Damian pulled up short on the threshold, wincing as the sharp movement pulled at his wound.

“What is _that?”_ he demanded, staring at the mattress lying innocuously on the floor next to his bed.

“A trundle bed,” Grayson answered smoothly. “We should really get you lying down so you can rest."

Damian refused to budge. “Why is there a trundle bed in my room?”

“I asked Alfred to set it up,” Grayson told him.

“Why?”

“So I can sleep in here. Duh.”

Damian looked at him, annoyed. “You’re not staying in here.”

“Of course I am,” Grayson said, more than a hint of stubbornness creeping into his tone. “You were _shot_ , Damian. In the _heart._ You need me.” 

_“Near_ the heart,” Damian correctly automatically. It was practically becoming second nature.

“Point still stands,” Grayson said. “I’m staying. What if something happens during the night? What if your wound acts up? What if you’re in pain? I’m not taking that chance. I’m staying.”

Damian glared at him. Then he saw the genuine panic in Grayson’s blue eyes and relented. “You get three days,” he said. “Then I’m kicking you out.”

Grayson’s answering grin was dazzling, though a shadow of worry remained.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Damian silently resigned himself to a _very_ long road to recovery.

*

“Here,” Drake said, setting a wristwatch down on the table.

Damian raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. “What am I to do with this?”

“Wear it,” Drake told him.

“I already have a watch,” Damian informed him. “And it’s much nicer than that one.”

Drake sighed. “It’s not _just_ a watch, Damian. Babs and I made it.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was getting better by the day, especially with the physical therapy regimen his father was helping him through, but he still wasn’t well enough to defend himself if this was some kind of attack from Drake.

Though Gordon’s involvement significantly lessened the likelihood of foul play. She and Damian didn’t particularly get along, but there was no rivalry between them.

“What does it do?” Damian asked, still not touching the device.

"It tells time."

_"Drake."_

“We just...made a few modifications,” Drake said vaguely.

 _“What_ modifications?” Damian insisted.

Drake sighed again. “Nothing much, alright? It just has a panic button for if you get hurt. And a tracking device. And it’ll monitor your vitals. And provide some audio surveillance of your surroundings. You know, basic stuff.”

“Why would I need all that?” Damian wanted to know.

“You’re kidding, right?” Drake asked incredulously. “You were just in the _hospital_. _”_

Damian stared at him. “Are you…are you _worried_ about me?”

The tips of Drake’s ears turned red. “Just wear the stupid thing, okay? Please?”

Damian slowly picked up the watch. “I suppose,” he allowed.

Drake smiled. “Thanks.”

Damian nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

*

“When I suggested going _out,”_ Damian grumbled, “I didn’t mean with _everyone.”_

“Cass and I are hardly _everyone,”_ Brown shot back. She glanced up and waved at someone in the crowd. “Oh hey—there’s Jason!”

Damian’s scowl deepened as his second oldest brother jogged up to meet them.

“Fancy seeing you here. I was just stretching my legs," Todd lied unconvincingly.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian spat. “I’m _healed._ I don’t need _babysitters.”_

“Almost healed,” Cain corrected him.

Damian shot her a look. It was true that he still got the occasional twinge of pain in his chest when he pushed himself too hard, but those days were few and far between now. He didn’t need to be escorted places like he was some kind of _child._

“So are we getting ice cream or what?” Brown asked. Damian rolled his eyes and strode forward, forcing the others to hurry after him down the busy sidewalk.

“Do try and keep up,” he called over his shoulder. “If even an _invalid_ such as myself— _oof!”_

Damian cried out as an elbow caught him in the chest, not too far from his surgical scar. He doubled over in pain, clutching at his chest. Small hands were around him in an instant, holding him upright and soothing him simultaneously.

“Hey, kid!” a brash, unfamiliar voice snarled. With Cain’s support, Damian managed to look up into the angry face of the man who had elbowed him. “You better watch yourself!”

“The _fuck_ did you just say?”

The man turned. “I _said_ he needed to watch where he was…” he trailed off suddenly, paling in the face of Todd’s heavily muscled frame, every inch of which was tense with fury.

“Apologize,” Todd said, voice cracking like a whip. _“Now.”_

“I-I’m s-sorry,” the man stuttered.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to get out of here or we’ll kick your ass so hard, you’ll be carried out on a stretcher,” Brown informed the man, her tone just as hard and unforgiving as Todd’s had been.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted down the sidewalk.

Todd watched him go for a long moment, tracking his movements through the crowd, before turning to Damian. “You good?”

Damian took another deep breath, the pain fading. He nodded to Cain, who cautiously let him go, and then nodded again to Todd.

"You want me to go after him?" the older boy asked.

"No," Damian said, a little bewildered by the offer. He hadn't thought Todd liked him very much--certainly not enough to take offense at such a minor slight to Damian's well-being. "No, that's alright."

“Alright,” Todd said, temper vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s go get that ice cream. I’ve suddenly worked up an appetite.”

*

After _months_ of recovery and physical therapy and _endless_ rounds of check-ups, Damian was _finally_ cleared for patrol. He gleefully fired his grapple and swung after his father into the night, enjoying the feel of the wind tugging at his hair and clothes.

He’d _missed_ this.

A dark shape flickered at the edge of his sight-line. Damian suddenly went on high alert, scanning his surroundings. He caught up with his father on the next building, subtly signaling a halt with a discreet gesture.

“We’re being followed,” Damian murmured quietly, in case of surveillance. “I’ve seen two men, possibly more. They carry themselves like Shadows.”

His father’s shoulders tensed.

Damian crouched on the lip of the roof, thinking furiously. “If we separate, I think we can take them by surprise—”

“No,” his father interrupted. “That…that won’t be necessary.”

Damian looked up at him, surprised. “What do you mean? It’s the League of Assassins. In _our_ city. Why _wouldn’t_ we…” he trailed off, realization striking. “Did you…did you tell _Mother_ I was injured?”

His father sighed quietly. “You got shot. I had to.”

“How long has she been sending Shadows to look after me?” Damian demanded.

His father said nothing.

“The _whole time?”_ Damian groaned, correctly interpreting his silence. “And you just _let_ her?”

“I would have let her do a lot more if I’d had to,” his father replied quietly.

Damian stopped. “The Lazarus Pit?” he whispered. “But you _hate_ the Pit.”

His father reached down and grasped Damian’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “I hated the thought of losing you more," he said, still speaking in that same soft tone. "I'm so incredibly proud of you for what you did, but I can’t lose you again, Damian. I _won’t.”_

Damian felt an ache in his heart that for once had nothing to do with the proximity of his wound. He slowly reached up and placed his hand over his father’s.

“You won’t lose me,” Damian said. “I swear it.”

“Good,” his father replied, squeezing his shoulder gently.

They stayed on the rooftop for a long moment, sitting in a little bubble of stillness, until the wailing of sirens in the distance broke the spell around them.

His father cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

Damian grinned. “Race you there!”


	8. Swear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lillyfan asked:
> 
> "Tim or Damian did something stupid and got hurt or something. Then Jason saves them and he gets back to the manor really mad, and then this happens: Jason pulls out his wallet and looks through it and says, 'The swear jar is a dollar per swear.' Then Bruse is says, 'yes.' 
> 
> Jason pulls out all the money from his wallet and says, 'then stop me at 200.'"
> 
> My brain read the words "Tim or Damian did something stupid" and just went into over-drive. The introduction of a swear jar just made everything better.

Tim’s new phone chimed.

 _“Finally,”_ he grumbled. He’d dropped his old phone that morning and shattered the screen beyond repair. The accident—hot on the heels of him spilling coffee all over his laptop the day before—was almost enough to make him lose faith in technology.

Almost, but not quite. Tim was man enough to admit he had a bit of a screen addiction. He’d nearly driven himself to distraction in the hours between breaking his phone and hunting down a new one and transferring his data.

He knew that some people (AKA Dick “I’d rather just meet in person” Grayson) enjoyed getting off the grid sometimes.

Tim had found it _unbearable_.

He unlocked the new phone and winced at the alerts piling up. Over fifty new emails—mostly from Wayne Enterprises. He _really_ needed to get over there—and twenty-three text messages.

He quickly scrolled through the texts first. He was relieved to see the majority of them were just general chatter from a group chat with his Young Justice friends.

The rest were from family—including some pretty funny memes from Steph about Alfred’s new swear jar. It was his latest effort to clean up the family’s language, especially over comms. Though the swear jar had been—and still was—mocked mercilessly out of Alfred’s earshot, it had been a surprisingly effective effort.

Alfred always seemed to know when you owed money to the jar. _Always._ At this point, it was simply safer to just fess up.

The last few texts on Tim’s phone were from an unknown number.

_Yo_

_Water my plants_

_Not gonna be back for a few days_

_Don’t overdo it on the succulents_

Tim shook his head. “Wrong number, pal,” he muttered to himself, deleting the messages. He sent a few replies to Steph and his friends, then opened his email.

Time to get back to work.

*

Tim woke after a long night of patrol to a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. He groggily hit play on the message and held the phone up to his ear.

_“Replacement. Hi.”_

Tim startled at the sound of Jason’s voice. He couldn’t remember the last time Jason had actually called him on the phone. And that was ignoring the fact that Jason was supposed to be undercover on a case right now. That had to be the reason for the unknown number--Jason was using a burner phone to reach out.

The message continued. _“Look I…I don’t know how long I’ve got. I need your help—”_

Jason was interrupted by a loud, gruff voice that sounded like it was a short distance away from the phone. _“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”_

 _“Oh shi—”_ Jason started, before the voicemail cut off entirely.

Tim sat bolt upright, adrenaline pushing the last vestiges of sleep from his system.

He needed to go. _Now._

Jason was in trouble.

*

Tim knew making a move during the day was risky. But even riskier was the prospect of leaving Jason in a dangerous situation for twelve hours or more. Jason was more than capable of taking care of himself, of course, but the fact that he had called for help—the fact that he had called _Tim_ for help…

Who cared that it was daytime?

Tim was going in.

He spared a precious hour preparing for the rescue. Going in with half a plan would only put Jason in _more_ danger. The cartel that Jason had been investigating was relatively new on the scene, but had established roots with astonishing efficiency. Tim didn’t want to underestimate their competence or their man-power.

He set the finishing touches on his diversion and got into position. Jason’s emergency beacon was intact, but inactive. Tim had been able to ping it for Jason’s location—a small room in a house near the warehouses where the cartel conducted its business. There was a window, though it appeared shuttered and possibly barred.

A make-shift prison cell, most likely. Jason was lucky the cartel had decided to keep him prisoner rather than shoot him outright.

“Okay,” Tim said to himself, thumb resting on the slim remote detonator he held in his hand. “Here we go.”

He pressed the button.

He counted to one hundred in his head, then leapt toward the window feet-first, using his momentum to smash through the shutters and into the room.

A lone figure lunged to its feet, unnaturally fast. Tim barely had time to regain his balance before he was under attack, his assailant moving quickly and mercilessly. He blocked two blows and readied himself for a third, but his attacker suddenly stumbled back.

 _“Tim?”_ Jason hissed, mouth dropping open in shock.

Tim slid out of his defensive position and looked Jason over for injuries. A knot of tension loosened inside him when he found none. “I got your message. We need to move. _Now.”_

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked, sounding bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m rescuing you,” Tim explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe Jason had sustained some kind of head injury after all. “Now come _on.”_

Jason, conversely, refused to budge. “Why would you think I needed _rescuing?”_

Before Tim could answer, the door to the room burst open. Two men rushed through, both carrying guns. Tim and Jason moved in tandem, taking the men down in quick, efficient movements.

When both assailants were unconscious, Jason turned on Tim, clearly furious. “I just blew my cover on an op I’ve sunk three _weeks_ into,” he hissed, gesturing at the unconscious men for emphasis. “I’d like to know why.”

“Your voicemail,” Tim replied impatiently. “Last night. You said you needed help!”

Jason shot him an incredulous look. “I meant with my _plants._ I only called ‘cause you didn’t reply to my texts.”

“Your texts? But...” Tim stopped, a sudden flash of realization striking him. He looked around the room for the first time and realized that it was literally just a bedroom. Not a make-shift prison. Not a torture chamber. _Just_ a bedroom. “Oh. _Oh.”_

“Replacement…”

Tim cleared his throat. “So…there may have been a slight misunderstanding.”

 _“You think?”_ Jason glared.

"Your voicemail made it sound so urgent! You said you didn't have much time!" Tim protested.

"Yeah because I _didn't._ Because it's considered _unprofessional_ to make personal calls when you're out on a job," Jason shot back. "Besides, I thought you'd just see that the number from the call and the number from the texts matched up and put two and two together!"

Tim made a face. "I kinda...deleted the texts." At Jason's disparaging look, he added, "I thought it was a wrong number!"

Jason shook his head and started pacing back and forth in a tight line. “Is there any way to salvage this op? Maybe I can try and…what’s that noise?”

Tim bit his lip, trying to ignore the shouting in the distance. “That’s…probably the cartel noticing my distraction.”

“Your what now?”

“I didn’t know how hurt you were!” Tim said, shoulders hunching defensively. “I thought it might take us a while to get away, so I made a big, flashy distraction to buy some time!”

“How flashy?” Jason demanded flatly.

Tim winced as the shrill siren of a fire alarm split the air, coming from the direction of the warehouses.

“Let’s just say it’s hard to ignore,” Tim answered at last, studiously avoiding Jason’s gaze.

Jason pinched the bridge of his noise. “Okay. I’m cutting my losses on this one. Do you have a spare mask for me?”

Tim handed it over quickly, eager to be useful.

“Right,” Jason said, expertly applying the domino mask to his face. “In the second warehouse, there’s a set of offices. If we can get in there, we might be able to figure out who the buyers are. We can even use your ‘big distraction’ to help us slip by unnoticed.”

Tim hesitated. “About that. I have good news and I have bad news.”

“What’s the bad news?” Jason asked, his voice dangerously calm.

“The bad news is that I kinda set fire to those offices as my distraction.”

Jason tilted his head. “Guess the good news is you raided the safe in there first for the ledgers. Boy, am I glad to hear that. Otherwise, this whole thing would’ve been for _nothing.”_

Tim was silent.

Jason frowned.

“Replacement?” he asked softly, dangerous.

Tim fidgeted. “So it maybe turns out that I only have bad news.”

“Mother _fu—”_ Jason caught himself. “Okay,” he said, breathing out slowly. “Just…okay. If we can collect some samples of the product the cartel’s moving, we might be able to trace—”

Both Jason and Tim flinched at the sound of a muffled explosion from somewhere nearby.

“Samples…might be difficult,” Tim offered after a long moment.

Jason didn’t catch himself the second time.

*

Bruce looked up, barely managing to hide his surprise as they rolled into the Batcave and parked their bikes. “I thought you were on a case,” he said to Jason, brow furrowing.

Tim grimaced as Jason strode toward Bruce wordlessly, jaw set in angry line.

“Jason?” Bruce tried again. Jason ignored him and stalked smoothly toward the Batcomputer. He stopped in front of a large mason jar, contents partly full with some dollar bills and loose change.

“It’s a dollar per swear, right?” Jason asked, finally meeting Bruce’s gaze.

“…Yes,” Bruce answered cautiously, still frowning.

Jason fished his wallet out of his back pocket. “Great. Stop me at two hundred.”

“Two _hundred?”_

Jason paused in the act of rifling though his wallet to glare at Tim. “Ask _him.”_

Tim grimaced again as Bruce’s sharp gaze cut in his direction.

“Okay,” he said, fidgeting nervously. “Look. This is really just a bit of a misunderstanding. We're gonna laugh about this someday...”


	9. Spine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inesucag asked:
> 
> "i have been thinking, what about a one-shot about Damian and the fact that he got his entire spine replaced, maybe like some long-term effects? And the fact that he wants to hide it until he cant?"
> 
> A little explanation for this prompt...
> 
> In the Batman and Robin comics (where Dick is Batman and Bruce is gone), Damian gets shot in the back several times during a fight. Dick and Alfred bring him to Talia who hires the world’s best surgeons to replace Damian’s entire spine. These scenes take place after Damian’s out of the wheelchair and back on patrol, but before he’s completely recovered from the incident.
> 
> Fair warning: this is a lot of angst.

Damian wakes up in pain.

He grimaces and slowly pulls himself from the bed, each movement sending a wave of dull agony radiating along the length of his spinal column. He hobbles toward the bathroom, gritting his teeth so he won't cry out. Damian reminds himself—as he often does on days when the pain is bad—that he’s lucky to be in pain, lucky to be walking at all.

Most people don’t take bullets directly to the spine and manage to walk away unscathed.

Of course, Damian hadn’t really managed it, either. If it hadn’t been for his mother, he would have been paralyzed.

Instead, he has an entirely new spine, functioning limbs, and a perpetual, chronic _ache_ every waking moment of his life.

Mother had assured him the pain would fade in time.

Damian isn’t so certain anymore.

He finishes his morning ablutions and dresses—slowly, stiffly—finishing just in time for Pennyworth’s knock at the door.

“Breakfast is served, Master Damian,” Pennyworth informs him. “Master Dick is waiting for you at the table.”

Damian takes a slow breath and wills his expression into its typical stoic mask, burying all signs of his pain _deep_ , where no one will see them. He strides across the room, ignoring how each step brings a spike of pain with it, and yanks the door open.

“Thank you, Pennyworth,” he says, brushing past the older man. “I will join him now.”

“Very good,” Pennyworth says, trailing behind him. “Are you feeling alright, Master Damian? You’re usually up before the sun—”

“I’m fine,” Damian cuts him off sharply. He doesn’t need Pennyworth knowing how drastically his sleeping habits have changed, how he sometimes can’t sleep at all because of the way his back aches.

“Of course, sir,” Pennyworth says, managing to convey an impressive amount of skepticism in just three words.

Damian ignores him. Pennyworth may have his doubts, but he doesn’t know the truth. Neither does Grayson. If they did, neither one of them would allow him out on the streets night after night.

Damian will do everything in his power to keep it that way. He won’t have them thinking he’s incapable.

Robin is _his_. No one is taking it from him.

He knows what it will cost. He knows it means he will go to sleep tonight in worse pain than when he woke up. 

It’s a price he’s willing to pay.

*

Damian is slow on the training mats today. He knows it.

Worse, _Grayson_ knows it.

“You alright?” Grayson asks, quirking a quizzical brow in his direction. “It’s not like you to miss an opening like that.”

“I was attempting not to embarrass you,” Damian shoots back, proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake even though the waves of pain radiating from his spine are making him nauseous.

Grayson smiles at Damian’s retort, but the concerned look hasn’t left his eyes. “Maybe we call it for today, huh? There’s some casework that needs catching up on.”

Damian barely manages to hide his relief. “Getting tired already, old man?” he taunts as a cover, turning away so that he can simultaneously stow his sword with his gear and get his nausea under control. He refuses to fall apart under Grayson’s watchful gaze. He refuses to let the pain get the best of him.

“I am in my _prime,”_ Grayson informs him loftily, though there’s an undercurrent of _something_ in his voice that Damian can’t quite place.

“I could cover patrol for you tonight,” Damian offers, keeping up the light-hearted charade despite the way his body is practically _begging_ him to lie down. At least his stomach is starting to settle. “It will most certainly be past your bedtime. I’ve heard senior citizens like you enjoy retiring early.”

“Hilarious. You're a real comedian,” Grayson says sarcastically.

"Who said anything about comedy?” Damian shoots back. He forces himself to turn around. Too long avoiding Grayson’s gaze would be suspicious. “Your rapid slide into decrepitude and obvious denial over it read more like a tragedy.”

Grayson huffs a laugh. It used to confuse Damian that Grayson would laugh at his insults, but now he regards the absurd response with something akin to affectionate amusement himself.

It’s just so _Grayson._

“Alright, you whippersnapper,” Grayson says, shaking his head. “Let’s do some casework. _You_ get to log the old cases, though.”

Damian groans, but for once it’s not from pain. “Why can’t _you_ do it? Logging old cases is _boring.”_

“Well, I _would,_ but my _old, decrepit eyes_ just can’t make out the fine print anymore,” Grayson answers, those self-same eyes sparkling with mischief.

Damian doesn’t deign to answer, just bites his lip as he finally takes a seat to stop himself from whimpering at the change in position.

“You sure you’re okay, kiddo?” Grayson asks softly, his worry almost palpable.

Damian pushes past the pain and draws himself up until he’s sitting ramrod straight in the chair. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks dismissively, mustering all his considerable powers of deception for those four words.

Grayson gives him a long look, but holds his tongue.

Damian congratulates himself on another successful obfuscation and turns his attention to the casework in front of him. 

*

Damian grits his teeth through every swing of his grapple, wishing desperately he’d tried harder to convince Grayson to take the Batmobile instead of the rooftops. The strain on his arms, core, and neck as they whip through the air are exacerbating the low, steady thrum of pain in his back into something much worse.

It’s enough to make Damian want to scream.

But he doesn’t. He _can’t._ There’s too much at stake.

He just needs to push through. He’s made it this far. He can keep going.

Damian is so focused on not giving himself away, that he’s surprised when Grayson changes directions without warning, twisting his body to make a sharp right turn in the air. Damian moves instinctively to follow, twisting as Grayson had.

A white-hot _screech_ of pain ricochets up his back. His vision tunnels. Distantly, Damian is aware that he’s lost hold of his grapple. He’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t stop it. He can’t move, he can’t think, all he knows is _pain pain pain—_

Flashes of coherence seep through.

Strong arms wrapping around him.

Cold concrete under his back.

_“He’s non-responsive. What should I—?”_

A sharp puncture in his thigh.

A cool sort of numbness spreading through him, quenching the molten fire in his spine.

Damian’s ashamed to admit it later, but it’s not the pain that makes him lose consciousness. It’s the _sheer relief_ of it ending that finally allows him to slip away into the darkness.

*

The first thing Damian notices when he wakes up is the pain.

Or rather, the _absence_ of the pain.

He almost cries in disbelief.

Mother had been right, after all. The pain _had_ gone away.

Then he registers the tug of an IV in his arm, the brace around his neck, and he realizes the pain isn’t really _gone,_ he’s just being medicated.

Which means at some point, the pain will come back.

He almost weeps again, bur for an entirely different reason.

“Dami? How do you feel?” Grayson’s voice asks. It sounds close. Damian forces his eyes open and blinks a little against the sudden light. Grayson _is_ close; he’s sitting in a chair at Damian’s bedside. Pennyworth stands behind him, a worried frown wrinkling his brow.

“Drugged,” Damian answers, his voice a little slurred.

The lines at the corners of Grayson’s mouth pull downward. “Do you remember what happened?”

Damian looks away. “I fell.”

“You…” Grayson stops and swallows hard, taking a moment to compose himself. “How long were you hiding the fact that you're in pain?”

Damian says nothing. It seems the safest course of action.

Grayson makes a noise in the back of his throat. Damian can’t tell if it’s frustration or dismay. Maybe a little of both.

“You should have come to us, Master Damian,” Pennyworth chides. “We could have helped you.”

Grayson puts a hand on Damian’s arm. “Do you understand how _badly_ this could have ended? What if your back had given out in the middle of a fight?”

Damian pulls his arm away and maintains his silence.

Grayson sighs heavily. “I have to take you out of the field. It’s too dangerous for you out there.”

Damian stares stonily up at the ceiling, though he can still see Grayson from the corner of his eye. “I understand,” he says, choking the words out past the sudden lump in his throat. Everything he’s worked so hard for—it had all been for _nothing._ “When will you be calling Drake in to take my place?”

“Wait, what?” Grayson asks.

Damian forces himself to repeat the words, though they hurt more than his spine ever had. “Drake. When is he coming to replace me as Robin?”

“Tim? He’s not—” Grayson stops. “Is _that_ what this is all about? You didn’t tell us because you were afraid I’d replace you?”

Damian bites his lip to stop it from trembling. “If I cannot be Robin, then I am useless to you. I have no place here.”

Grayson looks like he’s been smacked in the face. Pennyworth clears his throat.

“You will _always_ have a place in this house, Master Damian,” he says, enunciating each word with proper care. “Robin or not.”

“Will I?” Damian asks, without meaning to. It must be the pain medication. It’s lowering his guard.

“Yes, yes _of course_ you will,” Grayson gushes, stumbling over his words in his rush to get them out. “Dami, I’m not—I _wouldn’t—”_

He stops and takes a breath. “Let me do this right,” Grayson says, holding up a hand. “First, I am _not_ taking Robin from you. You’re my Robin, I’m your Batman. End of story.”

If Damian had thought the pain medication had brought relief, it’s _nothing_ compared to hearing those words coming from Grayson’s mouth.

But the older man isn’t done.

“Second, I’m still pulling you off patrol until your spine recovers completely,” Grayson continues. “I should never have let you back in the field so soon. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should have _seen_ how you were—”

Pennyworth clears his throat. “Master Dick,” he says sternly. “I thought we’d agreed that you would stop blaming yourself.”

“Sorry, Alfred,” Grayson says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m…I’m trying.”

Pennyworth nods his approval and waves a hand for Grayson to proceed.

“Right,” Grayson says, pulling himself together. He looks at Damian again. “Third, and most importantly, even if you were never Robin again—which isn’t going to happen—you would _always_ belong here. Us wanting you here has nothing to do with your usefulness or you being Robin or how well you fight. We want you here for _you._ If you spent the rest of your life as a civilian, we would _still_ want you here. _I_ would still want you here. Do you understand that?”

Damian searches Grayson’s blue eyes for a long moment and realizes that the other man actually _means_ it. He’d meant every word of what he’d just said.

And Damian--Damian _believes_ him.

Something inside him eases, a knot of tension Damian hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. He nods slowly.

“Okay. Good,” Grayson says, his blue eyes still intense with emotion. “Now let’s focus on getting you better, alright?”

“Alright,” Damian replies.

“You’re going to be fine, you know that, right?” Grayson persists.

“I know,” Damian says.

And for the first time in a long time, he actually believes it.


	10. Circus (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mogoskier asked:  
> "It would be really cool if there was a second part of this where Haly's crew got to meet the Waynes"
> 
> B asked:  
> "Hey, I really enjoyed this chapter and was wondering if you could write A sequel where the circus discovers how famous Dick and the Waynes truly are. I imagine haley's being a worldwide traveling circus that knows at best that Bruce Wayne is Some rich guy, but don't comprehend how truly famous, influential and important he is, especially for Gotham, and how much paparazzi the Waynes get."
> 
> Gabby asked:  
> "Like the circus performers meet the Wayne's, how they interact with another and understand Dick better?   
> Because I have the feeling that they dwell in the past, with their memories with Dick and his parents and how it used to be, so they're projecting it on him and how he should be now because of this. Even if they don't mean to hurt because they're genuinely happy to see him. They don't consider the fact that he grew up with a second family and that he lives with them longer now that with his biological parents. He has younger siblings, lots of different friends and a completely different life, plus vigilantisim (is that even a word?).  
> And he wants different things. They influenced him so much. And it triggers me a little bit that they don't consider it, because something similar had happened to me and I know how good it turned out when they get to know it. Their horizons are also broadened."
> 
> Adara_ava_echo99 asked:  
> "Just, dick’s old friends discovering he is a different person, or seeing how he interact with the batfam, or even hearing Dick referring Bruce as his dad! Just, the idea of them meeting batfam just... i love it! I love Dick Grayson, he is an incredible character, a lot of bad thing happened to him but he still try to be a better person although he is not sun and flowers all the time, that will be interesting to see also! Their old friends, seeing Dick angry! That would be something."
> 
> This is part 2 of a Colony chapter where Dick goes back to Haly's Circus and interacts with his old friends. If you haven't already, [you can read part 1 here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470088/chapters/58184140)

Dick hid his nerves behind a smile as Raya, Clay, and the others walked through the restaurant door.

“They’re with me,” he told the hostess, who dimpled at him in a way that made Raya laugh and throw an arm around his shoulder.

“Still a charmer, I see,” she teased, kissing him on the cheek.

Dick made a face at her, which only made Raya laugh harder. She moved out of the way just in time for Clay to barge in with his signature spine-cracking hug.

“Sorry we’re late. It’s a madhouse out there,” Bryan said, jerking his thumb toward the door. The sidewalk wasn't visible through the restaurant’s tinted windows, but he knew what the circus owner was talking about.

“Must be someone famous here,” said Marc, Raya’s new partner. He craned his neck trying to get a view of the restaurant floor. “I’ve never seen so many paparazzi!”

“Oh, they’re here for Bruce,” Dick explained apologetically as Clay finally set him down. He gestured for everyone to follow him toward the back of the restaurant. “We have a private room though, so no one will bother us.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. “Huh. Guess I didn’t realize Bruce Wayne was so famous. Thought he was just some rich guy. Uh, no offense,” he added hastily after Clay’s warning nudge almost sent him sprawling.

Dick smiled. “It’s alright. It’s not so bad when we go other places, but here in Gotham, Bruce is a pretty big celebrity.”

“Weird,” Jimmy said, stumbling as he was nudged by Alastair on his other side.

“So is it just you and Bruce today?” Raya asked as they approached the door to the private dining area.

“Um. Not exactly,” Dick said, his nerves returning with a vengeance. “It’s turned into a bit of a family gathering. Everyone wanted to meet you guys.”

He took a deep breath, reminded himself it was too late to make a break for it, and opened the door. A cacophony of sound washed over them, the hallmark of any Wayne family gathering.

“Didn’t you just say this was a _small_ family gathering?” Raya muttered in his ear, eyes wide as she took in all twelve people engaged in raucous conversation at the table.

“I did say _family,”_ Dick replied, a little helplessly. “I never said _small.”_

“Hello! Come in!” Bruce called, the tone of his voice pitched somewhere between his Brucie persona and the real thing. “I’d be delighted if you’d sit by me, Mr. Haly,” he continued, gesturing to the empty seat between himself and Alfred.

“Bryan is just fine, Mr. Wayne,” Bryan said, straightening his tie. _"Mr. Haly_ is more my father than me."

While they exchanged pleasantries, Dick snagged Alastair’s arm. “Would you mind sitting next to my brother Damian?” he asked quietly, pointing out the chair near Damian and Jason. “He was really impressed by your knife-throwing act and had some questions he wanted to ask you.”

“Of course,” Alastair nodded gravely and made his way to his assigned spot. Dick smiled at the way Damian’s face lit up at his approach. He turned back to the others to find Raya raising an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Where do you want the rest of us?”

Clay ended up bracketed by Kate and Luke and was almost immediately sucked into an arm wrestling contest with Kate—which he won, but perhaps not as easily as he’d anticipated. Dick surrendered Marc to the clutches of Steph, Cass, and Harper. Tim and Duke welcomed Jimmy to their end of the table, while Dick claimed the last two empty seats for himself and Raya, with Babs on Raya’s other side and Jason sitting squarely across the table from them.

“So,” Raya said to Babs as she settled in. “You’re Dick’s sister?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Babs replied at the same time Dick said, “Best friend.”

Raya looked between them. “So, basically, if I want embarrassing stories about Dick, _you're_ the one to ask,” she said to Babs after a moment.

“I knew this whole thing was a bad idea,” Dick groaned, only partially joking. He’d almost canceled the dinner at least twice before Alfred had talked him down. He hadn’t spent much time with his old friends at Haly’s Circus since he'd been taken in by Bruce. The thought of them interacting with the whole Bat-clan, even as civilians, was incredibly daunting.

Because the person he’d been _then_ was definitely not the person he was _now._ And for some reason, the thought of Raya and the others realizing just _how much_ he’d changed scared him worse than an Arkham breakout.

Jason leaned forward in his seat and flashed a charming smile in Raya’s direction, unintentionally breaking Dick’s panic spiral. “You could ask _me_ for embarrassing stories about Dick,” he offered. “I’m Jason, the better-looking brother. So are you single or…?”

Dick grabbed a roll from the bread basket and chucked it at Jason, who dodged it neatly. “Don’t flirt with my friends, please,” he complained.

“I was just asking a question!” Jason protested. “Besides, Harper was curious, too!”

“Traitor!” Harper hissed from a few seats over. She recovered herself and smiled at Raya. “Sorry about Jason. He never learned any tact.”

“I’m _direct,”_ Jason informed them. “It’s one of my many attractive qualities.”

“You’re _shameless,”_ Harper corrected.

Jason shrugged. “You can take the boy outta Crime Alley…”

Raya frowned. “Is that a real place? Like there’s an _actual_ place called _Crime Alley_ here?”

“There is,” Babs confirmed.

“Gotham is…” Dick searched or the right words. _“…special.”_

“If by _special,_ you mean a _fucking shit-show_. Then, yeah. It’s _special,”_ Jason said.

“Language,” Alfred chided from all the way across the table.

“Sorry, Alfie,” Jason sighed.

Dick saw Raya bite her lip to keep from smiling. “So, no offence or anything,” she said when she’d gotten herself under control, “but if it’s so bad here, why do you guys stay?”

“It’s home,” Babs said with a shrug. Jason nodded.

Dick spread his hands wide when Raya glanced his way. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I live in Bludhaven.”

“Yeah, the only place that gives Gotham a run for its money in terribleness,” Babs said sardonically.

“Ah, come on, don’t betray Gotham like that, Babs!” Jason said. “You know we’re still the best at being the worst. We’ll never give up that title!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Babs said, bowing her head in contrition.

Raya shook her head. “You Gothamites are so strange.”

Dick chuckled, but it came out sounding forced even to his ears. Next to Jason, Damian frowned and shot him a concerned glance. Several seats away, Cass did the same. Dick smiled as reassuringly as he could and shook his head minutely. Damian turned back to his rather animated conversation with Alistair, but Dick could feel Cass’ gaze lingering.

“Speaking of strange," Raya continued, pulling his attention back. "I still can't believe you've settled down somewhere. You used to _love_ being on the road."

"I still do," Dick replied quietly. "But it's nice to have a place to come home to."

"Yeah. I could see that," Raya said in an odd tone of voice, glancing around the table. Before Dick could even _begin_ to figure out what she meant, Raya was smiling again and reaching out to gently tug a lock of his hair. "Bet it would be even nicer if Bludhaven had barbers."

Dick made an indignant noise. "We've already been through this. My hair is wonderful, thank you very much."

Jason snorted. “It’s better than the mullet, I'll give you that.”

Raya’s eyes widened. “The _what?”_

Babs smiled evilly. “I have pictures.”

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, you won’t succeed,” Dick informed them, letting the familiar rhythm of their banter soothe his nerves. “I _rocked_ that mullet.”

"I'll be the judge of that," Raya said, leaning over to take a look at Babs' phone. She considered the photo for a long moment.

"You know," she said at last. "You _do_ kind of rock it."

Dick raised his fists in victory as Jason and Babs stared at Raya in horror. 

"Please tell me you're joking," Jason begged.

Raya shrugged. "Sorry."

"And here I was, thinking we could be friends," Babs sighed. "It's really too bad."

Raya smirked. "So a man cosplaying as a bat works for Gotham, but a mullet is too far?"

"We have _standards,"_ Jason joked.

"Ah but what if Batman has a mullet?" Raya asked. "You'd never know under that cowl he wears!"

Babs, Jason, and Dick looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

"Oh my god, _yes,"_ Dick gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"That would...he would look..." Jason couldn't even get a full sentence out.

"I'm tweeting this," Babs said, already typing on her phone. "This theory is going viral. Raya, I take everything back. We're best friends now."

"Glad to hear it," Raya said, chuckling. She looked a little bemused by the strength of their reaction, but ultimately entertained.

Babs hit send on the tweet. A moment later, Dick heard Tim's phone chime and then a snort of laughter from the far end of the table. Dick looked over at him. 

_"Photoshop it,"_ he mouthed. 

Tim's grin grew wider. _"Done,"_ he mouthed back, even as he showed Duke what was on his screen. Duke had his phone out a moment later, no doubt retweeting the message.

Dick turned back to find Raya watching him again, that same strange look on her face as before. When Dick frowned, she simply smiled at him.

"Just realized something," she explained vaguely.

"What?" Dick asked, curious.

Raya said nothing, but her smile widened and she patted him on the arm reassuringly. "So who wants to hear about the time Dick almost set my family's trailer on fire?" she asked Jason and Babs.

Jason raised his hand, recovering himself. "I _absolutely_ do."

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Dick found himself regretful and relieved in turns when it was over. They said their goodbyes near the door to the private room as the Haly’s crew was going to leave via the front entrance while everyone else snuck out the back to avoid any lingering paparazzi.

“Thanks for a lovely evening, Mr. Wayne,” Bryan said, shaking Bruce’s hand as Dick finished saying his farewells to Jimmy, Alastair, and Marc. Eventually, Bryan turned to Dick. “You know there’s always a place for you at Haly’s. You’re welcome back anytime.”

Dick felt a rush of warmth as Damian immediately glued himself to one side while Cass wrapped herself around Dick’s other arm.

“He’s ours,” Damian said, glaring defensively.

“Yeah,” Steph laughed, leaning on Cass’s shoulder. “No refunds or take-backs.”

Bryan held his hands up in surrender. Dick’s siblings scattered as Clay stepped up and spread his arms for a hug.

“It was so good to see you, kiddo,” Clay said, lifting Dick off his feet. Clay set him down after a moment, but left his large hands on Dick’s shoulders. “I was real worried about you after they took you away that terrible night. I prayed so hard that you’d find a family. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see that you did.”

Dick blinked against the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. “Thanks, Clay,” he said, a little hoarsely. Clay squeezed his shoulders comfortingly and moved back so Raya could say her goodbyes.

“It suits you, you know,” she said without preamble.

“What does?”

 _“This,”_ Raya said, sweeping her hands wide as though to encompass Steph, Harper, and Kate laughing at something on Harper's phone; Bruce and Alfred locked in quiet conversation with Luke; Damian scowling up at Jason as the older boy told some joke; Cass leaning her head on Duke's shoulder; Tim and Babs conspiring together in the corner. 

Dick shrugged. “I’m lucky to have them.”

Ray smiled crookedly. “Other way around, Grayson. They’re pretty damn lucky to have _you.”_

Dick released a deep, shuddering breath, the knot of anxiety in his chest finally loosening. He reached out and wrapped Raya in a big hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in her shoulder.

Raya patted him on the back. “Me too. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Dick pulled back so he could smile at her.

“Never,” he promised.

Raya pulled back and gave him one last kiss on the cheek before darting out the door after the others.

A hand on Dick's shoulder made him look up. Bruce tilted his head. "You alright, chum?"

"Yeah," Dick said, knowing that as he said it, he _meant_ it. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good," Bruce said. He patted Dick's shoulder once, then turned to the rest of the family and took a deep breath. "Now will someone _please_ explain why the hashtag 'Batman has a mullet' is trending on Twitter right now?"

Dick threw back his head and laughed.

Yes, things really were good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew inspiration for the Haly's characters from the Nightwing comics and the Titans TV show. Alastair is the only one I made up completely. If you're thinking about how these events would match up with the comics, please don't. I'm completely ignoring them haha.


	11. Caring (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NoVacancyMind asked:  
> "Of course now I need the other Batboys... and definitely Bruce... and Dami comforting Alfred would be interesting!"
> 
> silvermoonlightlady asked:  
> "Hahaha their interactions were so precious!! But the cow therapy is my favorite, that certainly does sound like such a Damian thing to do XD could we have another version for his other brothers please?"
> 
> Another part 2 coming over from Colony! [You can read part 1 of this chapter here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470088/chapters/58962166)
> 
> Unfortunately, this week got crazy busy, so I was only able to write sections for Tim, Dick, and Jason. I may follow up with Alfred and Bruce at a later date. Sorry about that!

Tim ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the boxes strewn across the living room floor.

Officially getting his own place had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He barely stayed at the Manor anymore anyway, choosing to crash at safe houses or at Steph's or with the Young Justice crew instead. It was a lot more convenient and had the added benefit of not having a certain assassin child glaring at him from every corner.

But now that Tim was actually _here_ , the condo just seemed big and quiet and _empty._ Not at all like the Manor. Not at all like _home._

He’d mentioned it to Dick the other night after patrol, but the older boy had just clapped him on the shoulder and advised him to “give it time.” Tim had noticed Damian lurking in the shadows, so he’d declined to say anything more, but he wished they’d been able to have a longer talk.

Maybe he should call Dick now. Or Steph. Or Kon. Or maybe Cassie or Bart. They could help him unpack at least. And with them around, Tim wouldn’t feel so _alone._ At least, not for a little while.

Or he could go back to the Manor for a bit. Bruce and Alfred would never kick him out. But Tim knew he'd feel foolish running back to them so soon.

There was a polite knock at the door before Tim could make up his mind. He went to answer it and was positively shocked to find Damian standing in the doorway, dressed in a dark button-down and slacks.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Tim was far too surprised to answer. Damian frowned at his silence, then shrugged and darted past him into the room. Tim closed the door on autopilot.

“I’d have thought you would have finished unpacking by now,” Damian sniffed, surveying the room.

Tim finally recovered himself. “What do you want?”

“I believe it’s customary to bring a house-warming gift when someone moves,” the boy replied. And as he turned around, Tim noticed the thin, rectangular package wrapped with brown paper in Damian’s hands for the first time.

“You…what?” Tim asked eloquently.

Damian raised an eyebrow and proffered the package. “Here,” he insisted, all but shoving it into Tim’s hands when Tim just blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Tim slowly ripped open the wrapping paper. His lips parted in surprise as he realized what lay underneath. The framed photograph showed Gotham’s skyline at night, the city lights shining brighter than the stars. The photograph had clearly been taken from a rooftop and _there_ , just in the corner, was a tell-tale flash of red and green beside a patch of deep black.

Batman and Robin.

Bruce and Jason.

“I took this,” Tim said wonderingly, after a moment. “It was the one of the first times I ever got a picture of them.”

“I know,” Damian said. “Grayson helped me obtain a print. I thought you might like to hang it up. It’s inconspicuous enough that it shouldn’t give away your identity.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.” Tim shook his head. He was genuinely nonplussed. Sure, Damian had stopped trying to kill him a while ago, but that didn’t mean he’d ever been _nice_ before. “It isn’t booby-trapped, is it?”

“Contact poison on the frame. It should already be working its way through your system.”

Tim nearly dropped the picture before he noticed the smirk on Damian’s face.

“That wasn’t funny,” Tim informed him.

Damian’s smirk deepened. “It was a little funny.”

Tim snorted, unable to help himself. He looked down at the picture again. “Seriously, this is really cool. Thank you.”

“No need to get emotional, Drake,” Damian said, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s just a picture.”

Tim shook his head, smiling to himself. Damian had a heart after all.

Who knew?

*

Dick curled his knees into his chest, hugging the pillow tighter. A brush with Crane’s fear toxin always put him off-kilter for a few days afterwards. The after-effects of the toxin made him feel fragile, like cracked glass that was a moment’s notice from shattering. He knew it would go away eventually, but that didn’t help him feel any better _now._

There was an exasperated sigh from the doorway. Dick forced himself to sit upright on the couch and hustled up a smile.

“Hey, Dami,” he greeted, hoping his voice was chipper enough to fool the young boy. There was no sense in worrying anyone. He could deal with this on his own.

Damian raised an eyebrow. Dick knew instantly that the kid was onto him. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Damian could read him about as well as Bruce could.

“It’s alright,” Dick assured him, switching tactics. “I’m alright.”

Damian made face. “You’re obviously not," he said. He appeared to reach a decision. “I’ll give you one minute.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”

“One minute,” Damian repeated. “Take it or leave it.”

“Ten minutes,” Dick countered, leaning forward intently.

“Two.”

“Five.”

Damian hesitated, studying Dick's face. “Five,” he agreed after a moment.

Dick grinned—a real smile this time—and opened his arms wide. Damian sighed again and walked over, allowing Dick to pull him down to the couch and into a cuddle pile.

“This is so undignified,” Damian complained without any real heat, his voice partially muffled by Dick’s shoulder.

Dick tightened his hold. “It’s the best,” he corrected, already feeling more like himself than he had since his run-in with Crane.

_“Tt.”_

“That’s not disagreement,” Dick pointed out.

“Whatever,” Damian said, snuggling closer. “You only have four minutes and forty seconds left.”

“Or we could just round up to ten minutes and call it good?”

“Don’t push your luck, Grayson.”

*

Jason grumbled in annoyance as he simultaneously tried to balance his grocery bag and fish around for his keys. It wasn’t exactly the easiest task when one arm was set in a cast and bound with a sling.

“Fucking just…” Jason growled to himself, before finally admitting defeat and setting the bag on the ground so he could dig his key out of his pocket.

He shouldn't have bothered to go grocery shopping. He should’ve just ordered take-out again, except he was sick of the stuff.

He also could’ve gone to the Manor, but he wasn't up to enduring Bruce’s lecture about how “falling off buildings is bad blah, blah, blah” even if it _did_ mean he’d get a meal from Alfred in exchange.

So here he was, trying to get his groceries inside so he could _finally_ start cooking dinner. Being injured _sucked._

The key turned in the lock and Jason kicked the door open with slightly more force than he’d meant to. Movement jumped at the corner of his eye, coming from his kitchen. Jason was already dropping his keys and reaching for a weapon before his brain processed that it was _Damian_ standing in his apartment, brandishing what looked like a kitchen knife in his direction.

Jason stopped. So did Damian.

“Are you…is that my apron?” Jason asked at last, bewildered.

“Yes,” Damian answered, relaxing out of his defensive crouch and setting the knife down. Jason belatedly realized that his kitchen island was absolutely _covered_ in ingredients and cooking implements and that something smelled _amazing._

“Are you going to come in or not?” the kid asked crossly, in a way that made Jason feel oddly wrong-footed in his own damn apartment that _Damian_ had broken into. He scooped up his keys and groceries and stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Okay, what are you doing here?” Jason demanded.

Damian shot him a look. “What does it _look_ like I’m doing?”

“Breaking and entering,” Jason replied promptly. He moved closer to the island and set down his groceries, all the while inspecting the ingredients Damian had laid out. “Are you making lasagna?”

“Gold star, Todd,” Damian said sarcastically. “One day you may even be a match for Father with detective skills like that.”

“I’d dial back the attitude by about ninety percent,” Jason warned him. “And I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.”

Damian made a frustrated noise. “You are injured and refuse to come to the Manor. You need sustenance. And I do not like being indebted to people.”

“Indebted?” Jason frowned. “Is…is this because I made you soup that one time when you had a cold? You know you don’t owe me anything for that.”

Damian looked down. “I…am aware,” he said at last.

Jason felt a smile tugging at his lips. “So does that mean you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Gee, kid, I think you’re going soft.”

Damian’s head snapped up. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am—this is ridiculous,” Damian huffed. “If you don’t want the lasagna…”

“No, no,” Jason said, holding up his hands. “I want it.”

“Fine,” Damian replied, Jason’s quick answer seemingly deflating some of his ruffled feathers.

“Here, I’ll help,” Jason said. “Just let me put this other stuff away.”

“Very well,” Damian allowed, turning back to his cutting board. “But understand that if you tell anyone about this, I know twenty different ways to murder you.”

“Only twenty?” Jason snorted, dipping his fingers into a nearby bowl and flicking some marinara sauce at the kid. Damian dodged it with an acrobatic twist he could have only learned from Dick. “You really _are_ going soft.”

 _“Todd!_ I am _not!”_


	12. Pennyworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the chapter "Backup" in Colony (in which Guy Gardner learns Batman does not actually work alone despite what he says), Myself asked:
> 
> "I am now imagining a member of the justice League trying to get cozy and romantic with one of the batgirls, only to wake up one night to the sound of a British voice saying: good evening, I am Agent A. Followed by a shovel talk, because for some inexplicable reason, she likes the guy back. It could be one of the robins, or spoiler."
> 
> And LadyBloodDove asked:
> 
> "Now you have to do Guy meeting Alfred!"
> 
> I saw these Alfred prompts and couldn't resist doing them in the same week. For the first prompt, I thought I'd keep things interesting by doing a super rare pair: Kyle Rayner and Steph. Kyle Rayner is a Green Lantern and has been paired up with Donna Troy a couple times in the comics, so we know he’s a fan of strong women. Plus, since the second prompt mentioned Guy, I thought it would be fun to keep it in the Green Lantern family.
> 
> But other than that, the two sections are entirely unrelated.

The night had certainly taken an interesting turn. Not only had Kyle been allowed to fight alongside the Bats in Gotham for the first time ever, but he’d also been invited back to Wayne’s castle for a post-fight dinner.

Even more interesting—it appeared Stephanie Brown was actually single.

“Tim and I are really good friends,” Steph continued, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him side-long glance that made Kyle’s heart beat a little bit faster. “But that’s all we are. It’s really for the best.”

“Well in that case…” Kyle glanced around to make sure the others were all still occupied with setting the table and wrangling Damian’s pets out of the room, before sidling closer. “Ever been flying with a Green Lantern before?”

Steph smiled. “No.”

“Do you want to?”

Steph laughed. “You aren’t subtle at all, are you?”

“Who needs subtle?” Kyle asked. “I think you’re pretty cool and I’d like to take you out. What do you say?”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Only _pretty_ cool?” she teased.

It was Kyle’s turn to laugh. “Okay, _very_ cool. And badass. And hot.”

“That’s more like it,” Steph said. She gave him a considering look. “I suppose I could—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Rayner?” a polite British voice interrupted from the far side of the room. Kyle and Steph jumped apart guiltily though they hadn’t been doing anything wrong. “Might I have your assistance for a moment in the kitchen?”

“Sure thing,” Kyle called back, trying not to feel too disappointed by the interruption. He glanced down at Steph. “To be continued?”

“To be continued,” Steph agreed, eyes twinkling.

Kyle winked at her and headed in the direction of the kitchen, dodging Dick and his too-knowing gaze.

“What can I do to help, Mr. Pennyworth?” Kyle asked at he stepped through the swinging door. The kitchen was quieter than the other room, but significantly warmer, with several pots bubbling merrily on the stove that smelled positively _heavenly._

“You may call me Alfred,” the old butler told him. “I’ll be bringing out the first of the serving plates in just a moment. As they’ll be heavy and rather hot, I was hoping to put your ring to work.”

“Sure, no problem,” Kyle said. “Anything I can do in the meantime?”

“No, no, just have a seat,” Alfred said, gesturing to one of the countertop stools. Kyle got settled as Alfred returned to his preparations, lining up some carrots on a cutting board.

“This was your first battle in Gotham, was it not?” Alfred asked, picking up a dauntingly sharp knife.

“Yes,” Kyle said. “First trip to the Batcave, too. You’ve got a cool set-up here.”

“I’ll pass along your compliments to Master Bruce,” Alfred replied, his knife moving so quickly it was almost a blur as he sliced the carrots without breaking eye contact with Kyle for a second.

“That’s impressive,” Kyle said, giving a low whistle. “Were you a professional chef?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alfred chuckled. “I never had time. Though you’d be surprised by the things they teach you in MI-5.”

Kyle’s eyebrows went up. “You were in the British Security Service?” He’d never heard anything of the sort—not even in rumors from the other Leaguers. 

“Oh yes,” Alfred answered. “For many years before I was taken on by the Wayne family. I was excellent at making problems disappear.”

Kyle blinked in surprise as the carrots on the cutting board seemed to vanish. “Where did…?”

Alfred tilted his head toward the bowl to Kyle’s left. Kyle shook his head in amazement as he gazed at the sliced carrots inside. He hadn’t even seen Alfred’s hands move.

A timer on the stove-top beeped. “Ah, first course is ready!” Alfred said. A few short minutes later, Kyle was concentrating carefully as he hovered several large serving trays, the contents of which made his stomach growl audibly.

He turned toward the kitchen door.

“One moment,” Alfred called. Kyle turned back, wondering if he’d forgotten a dish.

“A word of warning,” Alfred said instead. “If your interest in Miss Brown continues, you should expect a visit from Master Bruce at some point in the near future.”

Kyle’s heart swooped in embarrassment at having gotten caught so easily and then dropped entirely as he realized what Alfred was trying to tell him. “You’re saying I’m going to get the shovel talk from Batman.”

“Indeed.”

“Awesome,” Kyle muttered. He was _not_ looking forward to that. “Anything else I should know?”

“Only that Master Bruce has limits, even when it comes to protecting his family,” Alfred said, setting up another row of carrots on the cutting board and picking up the knife again. He looked Kyle directly in the eye. “I, on the other hand, don’t.”

He brought the knife down.

Kyle's concentration stuttered enough to make the serving platters wobble in the air.

“Best be careful,” Alfred said, nodding toward the serving platters. His voice was pleasant, but his eyes glittered as dangerously as the knife in his hand.

Kyle steadied the plates and hurried out the door.

He didn’t care what anyone said. Alfred Pennyworth was _way_ scarier than Batman.

*****

“Kinda need you out there, Big Blue!” Guy said, taking shelter behind the upturned city bus with Clark, ring at the ready in case he’d been followed by the rogue Kryptonians. “Zatanna and the Hawks are doing what they can, but they can’t hold them forever.”

Clark made an aborted movement toward his cape and collapsed back against the ground, face pale and sweating.

“Can’t,” he groaned. “Kryptonite…in my back.”

 _“Shit,”_ Guy cursed. He abandoned his position and helped Clark roll onto his side, hissing in sympathy when he saw the deep wound between the other man’s shoulder blades.

“Can you…?” Clark couldn’t even get the rest of the sentence out.

“Yeah,” Guy said, flexing his ring hand. “But it’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Already…hurts,” Clark gritted out.

“Fair point,” Guy allowed. He concentrated the power in his ring and took a steadying breath. “Alright, try to stay still.”

The procedure took about two excruciating minutes. Guy was impressed when Clark neither screamed nor passed out on him.

“It’s done,” Guy said, flinging the glowing green shard as far as he could as soon as it was out of Clark’s body. The big guy gave a shuddering sigh of relief and slumped against the pavement.

“Need…a minute,” Clark said weakly. “Healing has to kick in. Where are…the others?”

“Bats is down,” Guy reported grimly. “Zod the Clod went after him as soon as that hot Kryptonian chick took you out of play. Stewart’s trying to get him off the field. The princess is covering them.”

Clark pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the effort. “Batman has Kryptonite weapons. We need to—” he stopped suddenly. “What’s that noise?”

“What are you…?” Guy trailed off, hearing the whine of thrusters in the distance. He and Clark both looked up and saw a large shape approaching rapidly from above. “What the hell is that?”

Before Clark could answer, a slight figure in black hurtled toward the newcomer like a comet.

“Faora,” Clark muttered, trying to get up.

“Is that the hot one?” Guy asked, helping him into a sitting position. “If it is, whoever’s up there is in _trouble.”_

“Lantern, you have to go,” Clark said urgently. “You have to…” he stopped again, eyes going wide. “What in the world?”

Guy’s attention snapped upward in time to catch both figures plummeting toward the earth at an alarming speed. The hot Kryptonian—Faora, _whatever_ —hit the ground _hard_ , pavement cracking beneath her body.

She didn’t get up again.

Looming over her was the coolest mech suit Guy had ever seen. Standing taller than a man, the suit radiated menace from the tips of its spiked shoulder plates to its glowing blue eyes. Guy had never seen a suit like that before and though there was absolutely no way to see through the gray armor to the pilot underneath, the thing had a big black bat painted on it, so Guy went ahead and made an educated guess.

“One of the Bat-brats?” he asked. It wasn’t unheard of for a few of Bruce’s ten thousand kids to show up whenever he was in serious trouble, though they usually traveled in packs and didn’t bring sweet suits of armor with them.

Clark frowned. “Most of them are halfway around the world right now.”

“Then who’s in the suit?” Guy asked. Or, at least, he _started_ to. He was interrupted as a roar of rage echoed through the street. Zod sped toward the Bat-mech, almost faster than Guy could follow. Before he could even _think_ about getting a shield up around the newcomer, Zod’s heat vision activated.

Both Clark and Guy cried out, but the Bat-mech took the blast head-on. A few seconds later, Zod halted mid-air, heat vision blinking off in confusion as he stared at the entirely unscathed suit of armor.

The Bat-mech lunged forward faster than Guy would’ve thought possible and seized Zod with one hand. The other hand clenched into a fist, a bright red glow emanating from the knuckles. Zod flinched as if he’d been struck.

And then the Bat-mech’s fist actually came down.

Over and over and _over_ again.

Guy cleared his throat. “Are we _sure_ that’s one of the Bats in there?”

“Yes?” Clark replied uncertainly.

The Bat-mech finally released Zod. The Kryptonian fell to the ground in an unconscious heap. At least, Guy was pretty sure he was just unconscious. It was hard to tell around all the blood.

“Seems like they’ve got a handle on things,” Guy commented as the Bat-mech raced toward its next victim. “Regroup with the others?”

Clark pushed himself to his feet, wavering unsteadily for a few moments before finding his balance. “Probably a good idea.”

The fight didn’t last much longer. Between the magic-wielders, the Lanterns, and the absolute _fiend_ in the Bat-mech, the rogue Kryptonians didn’t stand much of a chance.

When the battle was done, Diana approached the Bat-mech, flanked on either side by Guy and Hal. With the tip of her sword, she rapped on the armor’s chest plate.

“Declare yourself,” she demanded.

There was a moment of tense silence. And then the headpiece slid back just enough to reveal an elderly man with a thin mustache.

Guy stared. This was _not_ what he’d been expecting.

“My apologies,” the old man said with an impeccably clipped British accent. “The suit’s comms appear to be malfunctioning.”

Diana’s eyebrows went up. “Agent A,” she stated with clear recognition. “I was unaware Batman had called for backup.”

“He didn’t,” the British dude said disapprovingly. “But I felt my presence was needed.”

“Wait, wait,” Guy interrupted. He felt like his brain was exploding. _“You’re_ Agent A?”

Hal threw up his hands in frustration. “Supes told me you were the _butler!_ I can't _believe_ I fell for that!"

“I _am_ the butler,” Agent A replied calmly.

“You just took down some Kryptonian heavyweights like it was _nothing_ ,” Guy protested. At almost the same moment, Hal added, “You almost murdered Zod!”

“Yes,” Agent A agreed. “It's a pity he’ll survive. Now if you’ll excuse me, Batman’s injuries need my attention. Farewell, Princess. Lanterns.”

The headpiece slid back into place and the Bat-mech lumbered off to the League’s make-shift medical station.

“Great, just great,” Hal muttered. “Even Batman’s _butler_ is stronger than the whole League put together.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Guy agreed.

Diana sheathed her sword and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s alright,” she told them. “You get used to it.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to _that,”_ Guy said, pointing at the Bat-mech. He perked up after a moment. “Hey, think I can convince Bats to make _me_ one of those suits?”

“Definitely not,” Hal and Diana said at the same time.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Your funeral,” Hal said.

Guy rolled his eyes. “Come on, we all know Bats is non-lethal.”

Hal shook his head. “With a butler like that, I think he can afford to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, the armor Alfred is wearing is called the "Justice Buster" armor and it was used by Bruce in the comics to successfully defeat the Justice League. It's got defensive systems for Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Cyborg...so it was definitely equipped for Zod and his followers.
> 
> For example, the red glow I mentioned in the knuckles? Miniaturized red suns. 
> 
> I am not even joking.


	13. Billy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probablyanxious asked:
> 
> "I'd love to see Jason being the first to find out Shazam's true age/identity. Especially if it's a hurt/comfort thing bc I love Jason interacting with kids, he's such a sweetheart."

Jason watched Shazam fall, trailing parademons like the tail of comet. He grabbed his rifle and started running. DeSaad was long gone, but he’d left a veritable army minions to cover his escape. No heroes had been killed in the fighting so far and Jason would be damned if they lost even one person when the end of the battle was in sight.

Even _if_ that person was as annoying as Shazam.

He tracked Shazam’s trajectory to a rooftop a few blocks over. The remaining parademons in this sector were heading in that direction, which meant the man was probably still alive. Jason leapt and grappled his way closer, taking a few shots to thin the herd when he could.

He picked out a vantage point just slightly higher than the roof Shazam was most likely on and grappled to the top, getting his first visual of the hero since he’d been knocked from the sky. Shazam was indeed still alive and fighting, white cape spattered with parademon blood, fists crackling with arcane energy.

Jason put his eye to the scope and got to work, firing as quickly and cleanly as he could. Bruce’s no-kill rule wasn’t an option here—you either put parademons down or they ripped you into a thousand tiny pieces.

Perhaps sensing their dwindling numbers, the parademons suddenly swarmed Shazam en masse, hoping to overwhelm the hero.

Jason cursed, hastily reloading. Shazam needed to end this. Why wasn't he using his powers?

As if he'd been heard, a massive bolt of lightning arced from the sky. Jason flinched away, closing his eyes as the electronic readouts in his helmet flared wildly. When he was finally able to blink the lights from his eyes, Jason found the parademon swarm was completely decimated, with nothing left but burnt-out husks and splatters of sickly green blood.

And in the center of it all, a kid with dark hair and a red sweatshirt lay on the rooftop. From this distance, Jason couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

Jason blinked rapidly, wondering if there was something wrong with his eyes. Where the hell was Shazam? Where had the kid come from? And was he really dea—?

 _No._ Jason wasn’t going to let himself think like that. No dead kids. Not on his watch. Not ever.

Moving as quickly as he could, Jason rushed to the rooftop, keeping his rifle ready just in case. He could find Shazam later—the big guy could take care of himself with all that speed of Mercury, strength of Hercules bullshit. He’d be fine.

He drew closer. Underneath all the grime and blood—all of which appeared to be from the exploded parademons—the boy only looked to be about eleven. Jason dropped to his knees and reached out, searching for a pulse. He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding when he found a strong and steady _thrum_ against the tips of his fingers.

Okay. Okay _good._ Jason took another steadying breath. His hands shifted so he could look for any life-threatening injuries, starting with the head and working his way down.

In the meantime, Jason’s mind buzzed with theories.

Maybe the kid had already been on the rooftop and Shazam had been protecting him? But then why hadn’t Jason seen him through the scope of his rifle? It didn’t make any sense—

Jason stopped, attention caught by something in the kid’s ear. He delicately pulled it out.

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. What the hell was this kid doing with a Justice League comm? How had he gotten one? And how the hell had he gotten in the middle of Shazam’s blast zone…

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed as an idea that seemed too crazy to be real suddenly occurred to him.

Was…was this _kid_ actually Shazam?

Was that even possible?

Bruce--who had to know _everything_ about _everyone_ all the fucking time--had never been able to figure out Shazam's civilian identity. Jason knew because he sometimes liked to rub it in the old man's face. It was pretty satisfying to see Bruce stumped.

Maybe it wasn't because Shazam was secretly some kind of genius.

Maybe it was because they'd all been looking for an actual _adult_ , rather than a child.

Jason rocked back on his heels. Seriously, though. Could Shazam really be a kid? There had to be some kind of explanation, because what the hell kind of fucked up system would _that_ be if--

 _Last of the parademon threat has been neutralized,”_ Clark’s voice crackled over the comms, interrupting Jasons thoughts. _“We’re all clear, people.”_

 _“Leaguers and Titans report in,”_ Bruce’s gruff voice added.

“Shit,” Jason said again, only half-listening as heroes from all over the city started calling in that they were safe and alive.

Whatever the hell else was going on here, Jason knew for a _fact_ that the League had no idea what Shazam’s true identity was.

Which meant he had about ten seconds to decide what he was going to do here. On the one hand, the League could help the kid if he was actually injured.

On the other, Jason knew _exactly_ how badly the League could react to getting blindsided.

And Jason had always had a soft spot for kids.

Mind made up, Jason dropped Shazam’s comm and smashed it with the butt of his rifle. Then he activated his own communicator.

“This is Red Hood,” he said, working hard to keep his voice calm and steady. “My sector is clean. I just saw Shazam—his comm was damaged in the fight. Said he’d catch up with you guys later and dipped out.”

 _“Where did he go?”_ Bruce demanded.

“Hell if I know,” Jason replied snippily. “Why don’t you check your tracking devices?”

_“Hn.”_

_“Hold on—I thought we’d talked about this,”_ Oliver Queen butted in, right on schedule. _“You are not allowed to put tracking devices on us, Bats.”_

There was a chorus of agreement over the line. Jason tuned them out, satisfied that Bruce would be distracted for a while.

Which was good, because Jason needed to smuggle this unconscious kid to a safe house without the Justice League finding out about it.

And then he was going to get some goddamn answers.

*

Jason was ready with a bottle of water as soon as the kid opened his eyes. “Drink this,” he ordered.

The kid had downed half the bottle before it seemed to occur to him that he was in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar person. He leapt to his feet, bottle spinning from his grasp. Jason caught it before it hit the floor and made a mess.

“Who the hell are—?” the kid blinked at the red bat on Jason’s chest, then at the helmet on his head. “Are you the Red Hood?”

“Yep,” Jason said. He reached up and took his helmet off, breathing a sigh of relief to feel fresh air on his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed the secondary domino mask as well. “You can call me Jason.”

The boy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Are you…? _What_ are you…? _Why?”_

“Figured it was fair,” Jason shrugged. “So is this a shapeshifting thing? Like a defense mechanism if you go unconscious? Or do you really look like this when you aren’t all Shazamed up?”

The kid froze, his eyes wild with panic. “Look, dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Save it,” Jason interrupted. The kid flinched and then tensed as though he was expecting a blow, hands curling into fists at his sides. Jason’s eyes narrowed. He gentled his voice considerably and added, “I saw you on the roof.”

After a long moment, the boy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “This is me,” he admitted in a small voice.

Jason clenched his jaw, fighting down a sudden burn of anger. He didn’t have all the facts yet. He’d save his temper until he knew who he needed to be angry _at._

“You got a name?” he asked instead, keeping his voice calm through herculean effort.

“Billy,” the boy answered after another moment. “Billy Batson.”

“Okay, Billy Batson,” Jason said. “You hungry? I’ve got pizza and salad.”

Billy looked up, surprise written all over his face. Jesus, the kid was the world’s most open book.

“You aren’t…don’t you have questions?” Billy asked, bewildered.

“Food first,” Jason said firmly, beckoning toward the table.

The meal was short and tense with silence. Billy packed away an impressive amount of food for someone his size. Jason idly wondered if that was due to a post-fight calorie deficit, a metabolism change from the transformation, or if the kid just wasn’t being fed enough at home.

Or maybe all three.

“Here,” Jason said, sliding him the last slice and passing him another bottle of water.

Billy frowned at Jason. “So when is the League coming to get me? I thought they’d be here by now.”

“The League’s not coming,” Jason replied. “I didn’t tell them.”

Billy was so surprised he actually choked on the bite of pizza he’d just taken. When he’d cleared his throat, he asked, “But…why?”

“‘Cause I wanted to get some answers first,” Jason told him. “For example, what kind of parents would let a ten-year-old kid go fight parademons on his own?”

Billy glared. “I’m twelve,” he informed Jason. “And I don’t got parents. And the… _other guy…_ is in the Justice League when you’re just sidekick, so I’d watch it, alright?”

Jason pursed his lips and didn’t respond. _No parents_ and _twelve years old_ were ringing a lot of alarm bells in his head.

“Where do you live, Billy?” he asked carefully.

The set of Billy’s mouth turned mulish. “None of your business.”

Jason kept his body posture relaxed, careful not to make himself appear threatening. Which was hard to do considering Jason was over six-feet tall and wearing a shit-ton of armor covered in dried parademon blood. But he did his best.

“I don’t need an address,” Jason told him. He could always look it up himself later. “But I do need to know if you’re sleeping on the streets or not. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—I’ve done it myself. But I can’t let you walk out of here unless I know you have someplace safe to go.”

Billy blinked at him, stubbornness forgotten. “You’ve slept on the streets?”

“Yeah,” Jason told him. “More than once.”

“Oh.” The kid bit his lip. “I…I’ve got a place. Foster parents.”

Jason studied his face for a moment, but it seemed like the kid was telling the truth. “And they treat you alright?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah, they’re fine. They don't know about any of this though,” Billy said hurriedly. Again, Jason was pretty sure he was telling the truth, but he’d follow up later just to be safe.

“Okay. So how’d you get all lightning-y?”

“Um,” Billy said, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject. “There was this wizard…”

Jason listened to the story quietly, trying to ignore the storm growing inside him. Some _asshole_ had thrown god-like powers at a _kid_ that turned him into a full-on _adult_ and told him to go and save the world?

No matter how fucked up Bruce’s parenting had been, at least it hadn’t been _that._

“And where is this wizard now?” he asked, when Billy took a breath.

“He, uh, died,” Billy told him.

“How fucking convenient,” Jason muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly. “Look, kid. I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t like this. I don’t like that you’re running around out there without a support system, trying to take the big bads all by yourself. That’s a pretty easy way to get yourself killed. I would know.”

“You would?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, waving a hand dismissively. “Long story. The important thing right now is figuring out what we’re going to do about this.”

Billy's expression turned dark, though Jason could see the panic swirling in his eyes again. “You’re gonna tell Batman, aren’t you?”

Jason sighed heavily. God, he _should_ tell Bruce. He should tell the whole fucking League. Kids deserved to be _kids_. They did _not_ deserve to be magically thrown into an adult’s body to fight monsters and villains.

But that apparently wasn’t the way the world worked. And if Jason told the League, they would kick Shazam out of their ranks faster than the Flash could blink. Which meant, when Billy inevitably _kept_ fighting bad guys, he really _would_ be all on his own.

And that would lead to a number of bad things—the most likely of which was Billy would pick a fight that was too big for him and get himself killed.

Jason was not going to let that happened to anyone else.

“I’m not going to tell Batman,” Jason said. _Not yet,_ he added silently. If there was a way to safely get Bruce involved, he would. But that was a problem for later.

Billy eyed him suspiciously. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Trust me, if Batman knows, you’ll _know,”_ Jason promised him. Bruce wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. Besides, this kid would be like adoption catnip to Bruce—an orphaned trouble-maker with dark hair and tragic past. Christ, the kid’s name was _literally_ Batson. _Bat. Son._ He was practically part of the family already.

“But my silence has some conditions,” Jason continued. “First, you and I are meeting up three times a week so you can get some _actual_ training under your belt. I’m not talking about your flashy lightning shit. I mean self-defense and lessons in tactics and strategy. And we’re gonna practice while you’re in both forms, not just the strong one.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Billy agreed warily. “What’s the second condition?”

“You tell me anytime you’re going up against someone solo.”

Billy glared. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve been doing this on my own for—”

“If you get hurt and have to transform, no one is going to know who you are or where to look for you,” Jason interrupted him. “Think about what happened today. What if I hadn’t been there? What if someone else had found you? They could have killed you before you’d regained consciousness.”

Billy fell silent. Jason shook his head. “Kid, I’m not trying to scare you and I’m not questioning your capabilities. I’m just trying to tell you that going out there alone is not smart. I mean, _Batman_ has backup when he goes into the field. I like to work alone too, but I _always_ know there are people I can call if something gets too big for me. Everyone needs a safety net. Even Superman. Even you.”

“I…fine,” Billy said sulkily. Jason could sense that wasn’t the end of the argument, but he’d take the win for now. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna introduce you to some of my friends—no one in the League,” he added hastily as Billy looked like he was about to freak out. “Just Arsenal and Starfire.” And maybe a few others, if Barbara, Dick, and Tim could be trusted not to tell Bruce. Cass could probably safely go on the list right now. “I want you to have a few people you can call in case I’m not available or something.”

“This is a lot of demands,” Billy said, clearly disgruntled.

“Yeah, well, I’m mean like that,” Jason answered. “Oh and before I forget, you’re going to have to figure out what to the tell the League about where you’ve been. I lied and said you took off after the battle. They’re kinda pissed.”

Billy put his head down on the table. “Fuck.”

“Hey. _Language.”_

Billy’s head popped up. “You said _shit_ like two seconds ago.”

"So? My house, my rules,” Jason retorted.

“I don’t like you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jason said, keeping his voice serious. “But I need you to know that no matter what, if you get in trouble and you call me, I will come for you. You're not alone, okay?”

Billy regarded him with surprise. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. Jason didn’t think he was imagining that the kid sounded a little choked up. “Okay.”


	14. Billy (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys! What an awesome response to last week's prompt! I'm so glad you loved it and I hope part 2 doesn't disappoint! I tried to include as many requests as possible while still keeping the one-shot to a reasonable length.
> 
> BlueKappa asked:  
> "This is so good🥺🥺 I want more though oh no😭"
> 
> LonelyQuestioner0 asked:  
> "I beg of you, please give us a part two of this at some point! It’s so good, I love seeing Jason go Big Brother Mode on people even if they don’t immediately appreciate it."
> 
> Ashattack99 asked:  
> "I NEED at least some members of the batfam meeting Billy!! Please please please with a cherry on top (at some point in the future, don't stress!!)"
> 
> Fire2772 asked:  
> "I love how Jason immediately got in big brother mood, and really wanna read about the first time Billy actually calls him for help, and Jason's surrounded by Batfamily members but he is like 'Hey, our little brother that you don't know about needs help, gotta go.'"
> 
> Guest asked:  
> "I can also totally see Billy developing a bit of hero/big brother worship of Jason (here is someone that knows his secret, can relate to him, and really seems to care about him, as Billy?! My heart goes out to the kid), and maybe being all "Red Hood said this" or "Red Hood does that" and Batman and the League being annoyed and/or confused by this weird friendship, and by Shazam suddenly being all "Isn't Red Hood great?". Plus Jason being all exasperated at times, but completely having the kids back (making the admiration that much worse - hahahaha!)."
> 
> Curse_my_sarcastic_nature asked:  
> "Yesss this is amazing!! If possible, a part two? Maybe with Billy being protected by Jason and/or the people he mentioned?"
> 
> Special shoutout to B, Lyxla, willtreaty, Ms_Sisyphus2020, Bugeyedmonster2, myslef, and anyone else who seconded the call for a part 2!

Jason glanced at the clock on his phone as Billy touched down in the forest clearing, trailing sparks of lightning. It was still disconcerting as hell see the powerful adult body of Shazam and know there was a twelve-year-old kid at the helm.

“You’re late,” Jason said getting to his feet and stretching his back. He’d been sitting still for too long.

“Sorry,” Billy shrugged. “Took me a while to find this place.”

Jason supposed that was fair. He’d chosen this spot out in the wilderness precisely _because_ it was so difficult to find. He didn’t want to give Bruce any chances to spy on them.

“So how does this training thing work?” Billy continued, rubbing his hands together. “Do you want me to transform or…?”

“Not so fast,” Jason said, holding up a hand. “We have some stuff we need to talk about. You were in a fight this week in Fawcett City.”

Billy tried to play it casual, but even in Shazam’s body he seemed defensive. “So?”

“We had a deal. You tell me _before_ you fight solo or I go to the League.”

Billy shrugged. “Sorry,” he said unconvincingly. “Guess I just forgot.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. This kid thought he could bullshit his way out with an _I forgot?_ Jason had practically _invented_ that move.

“You have to contact me, Billy,” he said. “That’s the only way this is gonna work.”

“I did just fine before you showed up,” Billy snapped. “I don’t need your help.”

Jason folded his arms. _Fine._ Time for Plan B.

“Oh really?” he said, letting a taunting edge creep into his voice. “Then how about you spar me for it?”

“What?” Billy asked, surprised.

“Spar me for it,” Jason repeated. “You knock me down and I’ll drop the whole thing. But if _you_ get knocked down, then you _have_ to stick to the terms of our deal. No more bullshit. No more lies.”

Billy eyed him suspiciously. “Do I get to use my powers?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged. “Go crazy. This should be easy for you—I’m just a _sidekick_ , after all.”

Billy cracked his knuckles. “So all I gotta do is knock you down?”

“That’s it,” Jason confirmed, shifting his stance. “You in?”

“I’m in,” Billy said. “Ready?”

“Bring it.”

Billy grinned and suddenly vanished into a flash of color streaking across the clearing too fast for Jason’s eyes to follow. A split second later, a blast of green energy rocketed past Jason’s ear, heading right for the blur that was Shazam. Jason yawned as Billy reappeared, tumbling across the grass before skidding to halt flat on his back, the front of his red uniform smoking faintly.

“What...the hell...was that?” Billy wheezed, gasping for air.

“Billy, meet Kory,” Jason said, half-turning so he could smile at the Tameranean princess as she touched down beside him, fists still glowing green. “Kory, Billy.”

Kory waved. “Hello, Billy.”

“So about that bet you just lost…” Jason continued.

Billy caught his breath and sat upright. “What? I didn’t lose! You said _you_ had to be the one to knock me down!”

Jason made a face. “Did I, though?”

Billy opened his mouth. Closed it again. “That…that’s _cheating!”_ he growled at last, outraged.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it is. Which brings us to our first three lessons of the day.” He strolled across the clearing and crouched down by Billy’s side. “Lesson one—always, _always_ be aware of your surroundings. Kory was barely hiding. You could have seen her if you’d actually bothered to look. Lesson two—just because _you_ fight fair, doesn’t mean your opponent will. And lesson three—don’t always feel like you have to fight fair. You don’t. Sometimes the best thing you can do is end a fight and end it fast.”

Billy frowned up at him. “Seriously? _That’s_ your advice? You’re a terrible role model.”

Jason caught and held the kid’s gaze. “I’m not trying to be your role model,” he said seriously. “I’m _trying_ to keep you alive until your eighteenth birthday…hopefully longer. That is the _only_ thing I care about.”

“Why?” Billy asked, sounding more than a little nonplussed. "Why do you care so much what happens to me?"

“I was your age when I became Robin,” Jason told him. “I got all the best training, got to fight at Batman’s side. And by fifteen, I was dead.”

Billy’s eyes went wide. Jason patted his wrist reassuringly and continued. “I got a second chance, but not everyone does. So I’m going to make damned sure that you never need one. And since I know you’ll never quit being Shazam, this is the next best thing I can do. You understand?”

Billy stared at him, his face older than Jason’s but his eyes so terribly young. “Yes,” he said softly, voice a little wobbly.

Jason kept pushing, even though his heart ached for the kid. “So are you going to stick with our bargain or what?”

“I’ll do it,” Billy agreed. This time, Jason actually believed him.

“Good,” Jason said, sticking out his hand. He helped pull the boy up to his feet. “Think you can go another round?”

Billy cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I can go again. As long as you don’t cheat this time.”

“Scout’s honor,” Jason answered, moving back toward Kory. “Let’s see what you got, kid.”

Billy rolled his shoulders back and dropped into a runner’s stance. It was patently obvious he was going to charge again.

Jason readied himself.

Billy made his move.

He hadn’t gotten more than two steps before an arrow exploded at his feet, encasing Billy in high-density polyurethane foam.

“Damn it!” Billy swore, fighting to free his arms. “How did…?”

“Billy, this is Roy,” Jason said as Roy came jogging over. “Roy, meet Billy.”

“Yo,” Roy greeted, waving his bow.

“You said you wouldn’t cheat!” Billy fumed, finally managing to tear one arm out of the foam.

“Geeze, it’s like he wasn’t even _listening_ to you earlier,” Roy said mournfully.

“I know, right?” Jason shook his head. “Kids these days.”

*

Jason entered the dark safe house, gun held at the ready.

“Kid?” he called softly. “You in here?”

There was a soft sob from the kitchen. “Jay?”

Jason raced forward, holstering his weapon. A small shape tumbled out of one of the cabinets, left arm dangling uselessly.

“Guys, I got him,” Jason called into the comm as Billy scrambled over to him and grabbed his wrist like he couldn’t quite believe Jason was really there. “Fall back to the safe house.”

 _“Understood,”_ Roy replied. _“We’ll do a final sweep and head your way.”_

Jason turned his full attention to the boy in front of him. Billy looked decidedly worse for wear, his face a mess of tears and bruises. Jason was beyond grateful that he and the Outlaws had spent a number of weekends setting up safe houses in Fawcett City and teaching Billy how to find them.

“I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t…he almost _killed_ me when we fought. I tried to run, but...” Billy looked down. "I only barely got away like this."

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jason shushed him gently. He crouched down to get a better look at the kid’s hurt arm. Even without touching it, Jason was pretty sure it was broken. “You’re okay. We’re gonna keep you safe.”

Billy wavered on his feet. Jason helped him sit on the floor, his back to the kitchen island. “How’d you get here so fast?” the boy wondered.

“Roy and Kory hitched a ride from the Flash—the younger one,” Jason clarified. “I used the League transporter in the Batcave.”

Billy looked at him, eyes wide and horrified.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, correctly interpreting his expression. “Flash doesn’t know why we came and he won’t say anything. And I’ve been hacking into Batman’s systems for _years._ Your secret is still safe. Now why haven’t you transformed and healed that arm?” 

Billy shook his head. “I...I can't,” he said, fast and scared. “He has magic. What if he can sense when I turn? I can't risk it."

Jason frowned. He still wasn't sure who the _he_ was that Billy was referencing, but they'd get to that later. “Your arm looks broken. I'll have to splint it. It’ll hurt.”

“Do it,” the kid said, not hesitating for a second.

Once Jason was finished tending Billy's injuries and Roy had forced the boy to eat something, the whole story came spilling out. Apparently, there was some demon named Satanus who was turning humans into monsters and wanted access to the Rock of Eternity--whatever _that_ was--and wasn’t afraid to go through Shazam to get it.

“Satanus is a dumb name,” Roy scoffed. “He could at _least_ put some effort into it.”

Billy half-smiled at that. Jason felt his spirits lift at the sight. “It _is_ a dumb name,” the kid agreed, sounding a little bit more like his old self.

“We must make a plan,” Kory said, shaking her glorious hair back.

Billy’s smile disappeared. “But I don’t know how to beat him,” he said. “He’s too strong for me.”

“We’re not asking you to run right back out there,” Jason said. “And if you want to sit this one out, that's okay, too. But we can't let this asshole keep hurting people. Someone has to fight, kid, and I think you're more than up for the task. So let’s put our heads together and figure out how to do it _right._ "

Billy took a deep breath. “Okay. Right. We can do this. _I_ can do this," he said, more to himself than anyone else. After a moment, he straightened in his chair, gaze determined. Jason had never felt prouder. "Here’s everything I know…”

*

“So what exactly are we doing here?” Dick asked, folding his arms as he glanced around the clearing where Jason typically held his training sessions with Billy. “And why is Shazam here? Nice work with that Satanus guy, by the way.”

“He was no match for me,” Billy boasted. Jason was glad his helmet hid his smile.

“Does this have anything to do with why the Outlaws were in Fawcett two days ago?” Tim chimed in.

 _“Just_ two days ago?” Babs laughed. “You’ve been slacking on the tracking, Red. The Outlaws have been making regular trips to Fawcett for weeks now.”

“Huh, Flash only mentioned the one trip to _me,”_ Dick frowned.

“Mentioned?” Tim repeated, raising an eyebrow. Cass folded her arms.

“Confessed,” Dick corrected himself. “After some pointed snooping.”

Jason glowered. “Why is everyone in this family so goddamn nosy?”

Dick flashed him a grin. “Aw c’mon. Stalking is caring in this family, Little Wing.”

“Um,” Billy said, tugging at the sleeve of Jason’s jacket. “If _they_ know, does that mean Batman knows?”

“He knows Orphan’s been covering the Hood’s territory on occasion,” Babs answered, though the question hadn’t been directed at her. Jason glanced at Cass questioningly.

 ** _I said nothing,_ **she signed at him.

“She didn’t,” Babs confirmed. “And I’ve been keeping the Fawcett City trips off B’s radar. As far as I know, he thinks you’re just traveling with the Outlaws again.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, grateful and a little surprised.

Babs shrugged. “B tends to overreact. Figured I’d keep an eye on things until I knew there was something to actually overreact _about.”_

“Speaking of…” Dick jumped in. “What is it that we're supposed to know, but Batman can't?"

Billy looked at Jason with pleading eyes. He still wasn't fully convinced they needed to tell more people, but after the incident with Satanus, Jason was more sure than ever. The more help Billy had available in times of trouble, the better.

“First things first,” Jason said, buying the kid a little more time. “You all have to _swear_ you won’t tell _anyone_ what you’re about to see tonight.”

Tim frowned. “Did you murder someone? Because I am _not_ helping you hide the body.”

“Wish I’d murdered _you_ when I had the chance,” Jason muttered. Tim scoffed, utterly unintimidated. Both of them got disappointed looks from Cass, which was impressive considering her face was completely covered.

"Hood?” Dick pressed, voice uncharacteristically serious. “What is this about?”

“Just promise,” Jason told him, dodging the question. “It’s worth it. It’s more than worth it.”

“Okay,” Dick said slowly. “I swear.”

Cass nodded.

“Alright, fine,” Tim sighed, sounding put-upon.

Babs pursed her lips. “I swear I won’t tell anyone—unless I think them _not_ knowing will put them in danger.”

Jason hesitated, but that was probably the best he was going to get from Barbara. He nodded and turned to Billy.

“Alright, kid,” he said. “Show ‘em.”

Billy cleared his throat nervously. “Maybe take a step back and close your eyes,” he advised. When everyone had moved to a safe distance, he shouted, “SHAZAM!”

Even with his eyes closed, the flash of lighting was incredibly bright. Jason blinked the spots from his eyes to find Billy in his true form, wearing his familiar red sweatshirt and ringing his hands nervously.

“So, um, hi,” the kid said. “My name’s Billy.”

There was dead silence around the clearing.

“What,” Babs said after a long moment, “the _hell?”_

“Is this for real?” Tim asked, barely contained fury in his voice. Jason could tell it wasn't directed at the kid. He remembered feeling the same way when he’d found out.

“Yeah,” Jason answered as Billy shrank into himself. He walked over and put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s real. And you know what’ll happen if the League finds out. The kid needs some people in his corner. He needs _us_. Will you do it?”

“Of course we’ll do it,” Dick said instantly and a knot of tension Jason hadn’t even realized he was carrying suddenly relaxed. “How is that even a _question?”_

Jason squeezed Billy’s shoulder reassuringly. “See?” he said softly when Billy looked up at him. “Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Billy smiled hesitantly, then took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “You guys probably want some answers,” he said. “I'll tell you what I can.”

Later—much later—when Billy had transformed back into Shazam and flown home, Babs grabbed Jason’s arm. “Are you sure this is the right play? Can we really be responsible for sending a kid to fight League-level battles?”

“We all fought with the League when we were around his age,” Jason pointed out, pulling his arm free. “And the Teen Titans do it all the time. Do I love the idea? Hell no. But I also recognize none of us have a fucking leg to stand on. Besides, the _worst_ thing we can do is isolate him from the hero community if he plans to keep fighting. He needs people watching his back.”

“Alright,” Babs relented, though Jason wasn’t sure she was totally convinced. “We do it your way. For now. But you’re not going to be able to hide your connection to Billy from Bruce forever.”

“I know,” Jason sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Why not just let people know you guys are friends?” Dick shrugged. “Teams of heroes work together all the time in a professional capacity and no one ever questions it.”

“Dick’s right,” Tim agreed. “The more you try to hide it, the more suspicious it’ll be. Just put it out in the open.”

“That…” Jason trailed off, resisting the urge to smack himself in the forehead. It was so fucking _obvious._ He’d just been so wrapped up in trying to keep Billy’s secret that he’d forgotten that hiding in plain sight was always the better option. “That is definitely what we’re going to do.”

“Good. Do that. Just so long as _we’re_ all clear about what’s _actually_ going on here,” Tim continued, smirking in Jason’s direction in a way that Jason did _not_ like.

 ** _What?_** Cass signed.

“Jason is pulling a Bruce.”

Say what now?

 _“Ohmygod,_ he’s _totally_ pulling a Bruce,” Dick gasped. “Have you tried to adopt Billy yet?”

“No one’s getting adopted,” Jason growled. “And I am _not_ pulling a Bruce.”

Babs’ lips twitched. “You kinda are.

“I’m just training him!” Jason exclaimed, frustrated.

Dick snickered. “That’s what Bruce said when he took _me_ in. Look how _that_ turned out.”

“This is not the same thing _at all,”_ Jason insisted.

“Look at him denying it,” Tim said, shaking his head. _“_ That’s a _classic_ Bruce tactic.”

“Cass, help me out,” Jason complained.

“Can’t,” she said simply. “They’re right.”

Dick high-fived her.

Jason groaned. “This is why I never hang out with you guys.”

“We get it,” Tim said, his shit-eating grin doing nothing to soothe Jason’s fraying temper. “The life of a single dad is tough.”

“Wow, you just made Bruce a _grandfather,”_ Babs teased. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I hate all of you _so much,”_ Jason growled.

His family was the _worst._

*****

BONUS

“There have been rumblings about the Injustice League being active again,” Barry added. The official League meeting was over, but a few of them had remained behind to talk.

Clark shook his head, making brief eye contact with Bruce. “We need to be careful with them,” he warned.

“I don’t know,” Shazam shrugged, unconcerned. “I heard the Injustice League are a bunch of punk-ass bitches.”

Clark gaped at him. Shazam wasn't always the most eloquent of speakers, but Clark had never him talk like _that_ before.

“Who…who told you that?” Barry asked, sounding as nonplussed as Clark felt.

Shazam waved a hand. “It was just something Red Hood said the other day.”

Clark frowned. “Are you friends with the Red Hood?” He hadn’t been aware that the two heroes knew each other except by reputation.

“Oh sure,” Shazam said eagerly. “Him and all the Outlaws. They are _so_ cool.”

“Uh-huh,” Clark agreed, glancing over at Bruce to try to get a read on him. His friend was even more impassive than normal.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Shazam said, oblivious to the tension. “See you guys later!”

“See you,” Clark responded automatically. He waited until Shazam was safely out of earshot before whirling on Bruce. “Did you know about this?”

 _“Hn,”_ Bruce replied noncommittally.

Which meant _no_ in Bat-speak.

How odd.

“I don’t see how they would have much in common,” Barry said.

“I actually think it’s really nice,” Clark said after a moment.

He felt Bruce’s stare burning a hole in his forehead.

“What?” he shrugged. “Shazam’s a good guy. A little over-eager sometimes, sure, but I think he’ll be an excellent role model for Jason and the other Outlaws. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Barry said thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right. I think that could be a really good friendship for them.”

 _“Hn,”_ Bruce said again.

Clark figured that was the best answer they were going to get.


	15. Billy (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> empressofthesilverfox asked:  
> "Jay over here continuing the real family traditions, I see. I absolutely adore the idea of the entire young hero community sneaking Billy into their ranks and pulling a fast one on the JL. ''I mean, yeah, everyone knows Shazam is 12, what, you guys didn't? Kinda sus if you ask me.'' That little 'hn' at the end is B's parenting alarms starting to ring, but he has no idea why and it's driving him crazy. I live for it. I'm so proud of them. Loved this, looking forward to part 3 someday. *wink wink*"
> 
> Ceciliedr asked:  
> "Would love it if you ever want to add a part three to this. Maybe finally have the league figure it out, like maybe Billy comes clean when he turns 18 and they lose it. Could have it be close a few times before that. Shazam fighting better and smarter the more bat training he gets. Could also be cool to have a scene with the bats helping Billy in civilian, maybe Dick or Jason shows up at career day or some other school function since Billy is a foster kid."
> 
> Notspiderman asked:  
> "I finished this chapter and just wanted more. You've awoken in me the want for a whole fic with big brother Jason and little brother Billy. I would love more of this in any way, though of course I'll enjoy whatever you post next Friday!"
> 
> Lyxla asked:  
> "God this is so great! I adore Shazam picking up on Jason's cursing....would it be too much to ask for a part 3?"

“This isn’t working,” Bruce snapped over the comms as he narrowly avoided a blast of heat vision from Amazo. There were too many civilians packed into the city streets, too much potential for people to get hurt and the League to get killed protecting them. “We need to get off these streets.”

 _“I’m open to hearing ideas,”_ Clark shot back, his voice uncharacteristically tense. He always got pissy whenever he got sidelined in a fight. But it was better than the alternative. Fighting an Amazo with all the powers of Superman would be a nightmare.

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.

 _“There’s a park ten blocks west of here,”_ Shazam said, his voice focused and thoughtful. _“Saw it when I was scouting the area.”_

Bruce paused. Since when did Shazam scout terrain? 

Not to mention the fact that Shazam had been wise enough to keep outside Amazo’s radius from the very start, preventing the android from copying his abilities—something that couldn’t be said for more veteran members of the League.

 _“I see the park,”_ Clark replied over the comms. _“It’s a good location.”_

“Flash, go clear out the civilians,” Bruce ordered.

_“On it.”_

_“Still need to figure out how we’re going to get Amazo there_ _,”_ Hal reminded them.

 _“I can draw him off,”_ Diana offered.

“Too risky,” Bruce grunted. “We’ve no guarantee he’ll follow the path we choose.”

Shazam cleared his throat. _“What if Lantern blocked off any streets we didn’t want him on? We can herd him down the straightest path. Superman clan fly ahead and pull the civilians out of the way.”_

 _“That…that might actually work,”_ Hal said, sounding impressed.

“We’ll take him straight up the main avenue,” Bruce said decisively, already moving. “Superman, take care of the civilians. Lantern, Manhunter, Arrow—you’re on herding duty. Keep your distance, but don’t let him stray. Everyone else, get to the park. We’ll set up an ambush.”

 _“Nice work, Shazam,”_ Barry added. There were murmurs of agreement from the others.

Bruce held his tongue. It _was_ nice work, but it showed a level of tactical thinking that Bruce hadn’t seen from Shazam before. Bruce didn’t like to be surprised by his teammates, even if the surprises were good ones. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on here. It was a feeling that had been plaguing him ever since Shazam mentioned his friendship with Jason.

But he could worry about that later. Right now, there was a fight to finish.

*

Bruce checked the logs a second time, just to be sure. It had to be some kind of mistake.

But no. It was there clear as day.

Jason had accessed the League transporter in the Batcave dozens of times over the last few months. He’d tried to cover his tracks—and done it rather successfully—but Bruce was onto him now.

He examined the data again. Every single trip had been to Fawcett City.

Fawcett City.

Home of Shazam.

Bruce’s mind spun with questions.

This _had_ to have something to do with Shazam's sudden friendship with the Outlaws. But why so many trips? And why the effort to hide it? Jason had admitted to visiting Shazam on occasion, but he'd never made any mention of _this_.

Which meant this was something different. Something Jason _really_ didn’t want Bruce to know.

Well. If it was something Jason didn't want Bruce to know, then it logically followed that the secret was something he knew Bruce wouldn't approve of. A friendship with Shazam--while odd--wasn't enough to warrant this level of stealth.

So there had to be something about the friendship that Jason didn't want Bruce looking at too closely.

Maybe Jason was trying to recruit Shazam for the Outlaws?

No, that didn't make sense. Shazam’s power made him a formidable ally, but Bruce had seen for himself that there were lines the man wouldn’t cross. Besides, Shazam loved being in the Justice League more than practically any other member. He would never leave.

But what was it, then? What would be worth the risk of drawing Bruce’s notice by using League tech Jason _knew_ he was banned from? And why go to _Shazam_ in particular?

Shazam, who acted far younger and more impressionable than his age. Shazam, who was far too trusting for his own good, except when it came to his identity. Shazam, who tried so _hard_ to please those around him…

_Oh._

Oh _Jason._

They were going to have _words_ about this one.

*

“We need to talk,” Bruce began unceremoniously.

“Do we really need to do this right now?” Jason groaned. “I’m tired and I smell like the sewer I chased Killer Croc through tonight. I just want to shower about a million times and then go to bed.”

Bruce was unmoved. “I know about Shazam.”

Jason’s expression didn’t change—Bruce had trained him too well for that—but he couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders.

“I think the whole world knows about Shazam,” Jason snarked, a beat too late. “He’s been fighting in the League for, like, a year now.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him recently,” Bruce continued, undeterred. “I’ll give you one chance to come clean.”

“Come clean?” Jason repeated, but Bruce could tell he was nervous now. “About what? Think maybe you’ve finally lost it.”

Bruce sighed. So they were going to do this the hard way. “The Outlaws are still banned from using League tech and the League database, Jason. I know that’s a point of frustration for you and Roy, but I will not allow you to manipulate Shazam into giving you access codes. I’ve already laid out the terms for the Outlaws to get the League’s approval and I will not allow you to circumvent them, especially by taking advantage of a Leaguer’s generosity. This stops now.”

Jason blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “You think I…” he trailed off for a moment. “Yes. Yes, that _is_ what this is about. League tech. You caught me.”

Bruce shook his head. “You can’t keep doing this, Jason. You’re going to need the League on your side one day and antagonizing them now will not help you.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll stop,” Jason said, sounding less aggravated than Bruce had anticipated. Perhaps even _he’d_ realized how unlikely it had been for his plan to succeed.

“And you’ll leave Shazam out of this?”

Jason tilted his head, considering. “I can’t cut ties completely, not after spending so much time with him. That’ll be too suspicious. We wouldn’t want him to think something was up. And he's a good guy. Don't want to hurt his feelings and all that.”

Bruce didn’t like it, but Jason had a point. “Very well,” he agreed. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on things.”

“Right. Well. Glad we had this chat,” Jason said, moving to straddle his bike. “Can’t believe you caught me. I’m going home now.”

Bruce let him go. He was honestly a little relieved at how well that had gone. Most of the time when he caught Jason doing something he shouldn’t be doing, his son refused to confess. Having Jason actually _admit_ something was progress, at least.

Bruce’s gaze narrowed suddenly.

Jason had _admitted_ to something. Without a fight or name calling or storming out.

Shit.

Bruce had missed something, hadn’t he?

*

“He’s _how_ old?”

“Five years older than Dick was when _you_ started training _him.”_

“Don’t turn this on me,” Bruce snapped.

“Then stop being a hypocrite,” Jason snapped back.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many people know?”

“Um,” Jason hesitated, which was a _very_ bad sign.

_“How many?”_

“At this point? Basically everyone who isn’t in the League. The Titans really love him. Alfred sends him cookies sometimes.”

 _“Alfred_ knows?” Bruce asked, aghast.

“Yup.”

Bruce forced himself to take a calming breath. If Alfred knew and hadn’t told him, then he must have believed the situation was under control. He sorted through the possibilities and came to a rather obvious conclusion, one he should have considered when he'd started noticing Shazam's rapid improvement on the battlefield.

“You’ve been training him.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, his tone heavily implying the unspoken _duh_.

“And all those trips you made to Fawcett?”

“Setting up safe houses and just generally checking in,” Jason replied. “We have a schedule now that there are enough of us in the know. He’s always got someone in the city he can call if he needs help. Not that he needs it much anymore.”

_“Hn.”_

“Holy shit,” Jason breathed. “That’s your _I’m impressed_ noise. You’re actually _impressed_ by us. Damn it, that means Dick was right."

 _“Hn,”_ Bruce said again, admitting nothing.

Jason laughed amazedly. “Holy shit,” he said again. “You’re not going to tell. You’re going to _help,_ aren’t you?”

“I’m still angry."

Jason raised his eyebrows. “Angry enough to tell the League?” he challenged.

_“Hn.”_

Jason grinned. “Fucking _knew it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the last part of the Billy arc! I'll be returning to other prompts starting next week, but I'm so glad we took this detour!!


	16. Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lillyfan asked:
> 
> "If you have a snippets thing, I feel like Bruce knows about all of his kids 'Extracurricular community service' and feel like he secretly helps them all and lets the kids think that he doesn’t know."
> 
> I decided to only use a few of the Batkids for this prompt since I've already written one-shots about Jason and Damian doing some kind of community service and Tim canonically has a nonprofit organization. However, I love the idea of Bruce anonymously supporting his kids as they do good works around Gotham. It's just so wholesome!
> 
> In true snippets fashion, these are pretty short. Hope you enjoy!

“Straighten your legs—you can do it!” Dick encouraged as little Deandra pushed herself into a shaky handstand. She almost managed to get both legs upright, before she wobbled a little too hard and fell to the mat. A moment later, she was bouncing to her feet.

“Did you see, Mr. Grayson?” she beamed at him. “I did it!”

Dick couldn’t help but grin in return. “You were so good!” he replied, giving the little girl a high five. “A bit more practice and you’ll be better than me!”

Deandra’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Dick confirmed with a wink. As Deandra giggled, Dick glanced at the clock on the studio wall. “Alright, you guys. It’s almost the end of our session, which means it’s time to start stretching!”

There was a chorus of disappointed groans from Deandra and her classmates. Dick hid a smile. He’d been holding free gymnastics lessons for underprivileged kids for about two years now and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. He loved working with the kids and taking time to do something nice for other people without putting a mask on.

Besides, it felt _right_ to pass along the skills his parents had taught him to a new generation. Dick knew they would have approved.

When the class had finished stretching and Dick had made sure all the kids were picked up by their parents, he put away the equipment and started wiping down the mats.

“Hey, Dick!” Phoebe called from the small office attached to the main gym. “Come look at this!”

“Be there in a second!” Dick called back, finishing his cleaning and stowing the supplies. He trotted over to the office.

“What’cha got there?” he asked, nodding to the thick manila envelope in Phoebe’s hands. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyes glimmering with excitement. Dick peeked inside.

“Are these tickets to the circus?” he gasped, pulling one out to get a better look at it. “I though they were all booked up!”

“Guess not! We’ve got enough there for the two of us, your whole class, and their parents,” Phoebe told him. “And there’s a receipt for a bus service to take everyone to and from the show.”

Dick shook his head in wonderment. “Did you do this?” he asked. Phoebe owned the gym and was kind enough to loan Dick the space for an hour each weekend so the kids’ parents wouldn’t have to pay, but he hadn’t thought she had the money for something like this.

“Nope! Not me!” Phoebe laughed. "These came from the circus. Apparently, some anonymous donor caught wind of what’s happening here and decided to give back to the community!”

“That’s amazing!” Dick laughed incredulously. He hadn’t realized they’d been making enough of a splash in Bludhaven to even get on someone's radar like this.

“Your students are going to be so excited!”

Dick grinned at the thought. These kids didn’t have many good things in their lives. A trip to the circus was going to be eye-opening for them. “Oh man, I can’t _wait_ to tell them!”

This was going to be the _best._

*

Steph pulled up short on the sidewalk, throwing out an arm to stop Cass as well.

“What the hell?” she demanded, goggling at the large moving van parked in front of the women’s shelter they volunteered at once a week. Cass frowned and darted toward the open doorway, where Ada, the site director, was standing with a clipboard.

Steph quickly followed. Ada finished checking something off on her list and glanced up.

“Oh, hey girls!” she said. “Glad you’re here! Exciting things happening today!”

“What’s going on?” Steph wanted to know. Cass pulled her to one side as several workers passed by, carrying a couple old mattresses out the door and into the truck.

“Some businesses in Gotham teamed up and donated enough funds to refurbish almost every women’s shelter in the city! We’re getting all new furniture, fixtures, paint—the works!”

“Whoa,” Steph said, exchanging delighted glances with Cass. “I can't believe it! That's...that's awesome!”

“Which businesses?” Cass asked.

“We don’t know!” Ada replied. “It’s all anonymous. You know, it’s moments like these that really make living through all the crazy clown fiascos worth it.”

Steph snorted. “I don’t know…the clowns are pretty terrible.”

"Okay, that's true," Ada shook her head, still smiling. “Why don’t you go on inside? There’s a lot to get done today!”

*

Babs eyed the invoice with suspicion. “Someone just _donated_ fifty top-of-the-line PCs to the school?” she asked again.

“Yep,” Maddox replied.

“And it was an anonymous donation?”

“Completely.”

_“Hmm.”_

“Why don’t you seem happier about this?” Maddox wondered. “I’ve been trying to get funding from the school district for better computers for a long time now. Think how much better this will make your after-school coding club!”

“Sorry—I am happy,” Babs told him, looking up from the paper and smiling. “This is incredible and the kids really deserve it. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Our IT guy could use your help setting them all up—if you’re interested,” Maddox told her.

“Yeah, I can lend a hand,” Babs said, setting the invoice back down on the desk. “Just gotta make a quick call first.”

She stepped outside Maddox’s office, pulled out her phone, and started typing quickly. Within ten minutes she had the answer she was looking for.

“Six shell companies?” Babs muttered to herself. “Really?”

She pulled up her contact list and dialed Bruce’s cell phone.

He answered after the third ring. _“Hello?”_

“Thanks for the computers,” she told him.

There was a pause. _“I don't know what you're talking about."_

Babs laughed. “Sure, you don't. Just like you don't know anything about the recent donations made to the women’s shelters all over the city--including the one where Cass and Steph volunteer--or the tickets someone sent to Dick’s gym. Let me guess—Jason’s group home and Damian’s animal shelter are next, right?”

_“I'm very confused by this conversation."_

“Wow, you are not convincing _at all,”_ she informed him. “You know you don’t have to support people you care about in secret, right? You can do it publicly. That’s allowed.”

 _“I have a meeting,”_ Bruce said and hung up the phone.

“Weirdo,” Babs snorted and put away her phone. She'd get in touch with the others later and let them know who to thank. In the meantime, she had some work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people!
> 
> While I adore writing your incredible prompts, I've got quite a backlog from Colony to get through. Until I've got the prompts I already have under control, I will not be accepting new requests.
> 
> There is an exception, however! I will still consider requests for a part 2 to any chapters that I post in Flock. Some of the best chapters in Colony came from a part 2 ask, so I'm not going to rule them out entirely!
> 
> Thanks so much for understanding. And to everyone still waiting to see their prompt written, thank you for your patience!
> 
> xoxo halfmoonmagic


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